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sepublic · 3 years

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What if Marcy doesn’t want to wake up?

It’s already awful enough imagining a scenario where Marcy is trapped in her nightmares, forced to relive the worst moments and memories of her life while unconscious, possibly not even aware nor conscious enough to realize that she’s alive, that she survived…

But what if it’s the opposite? What if Marcy doesn’t want to wake up? With how she uses escapism and fantasy as a coping method, as a way to survive; With how her world basically fell and collapsed around her in the most traumatic way possible, as she lost all of the relationships and bonds she thought she could count on;

What if Marcy resorts to escapism, subconsciously, and/or as a result of Andrias’ master, while in her coma? What if in her head, as she’s unconscious, Marcy is living out her greatest fantasies, her best dreams and wishes fulfilled… An ideal fairy-tale world where Anne and Sasha love her, where they go with her on those promised, endless journeys exploring new worlds! Where Marcy was never betrayed, where everything went right, where she wasn’t brutally murdered by the one adult she thought she trusted?

It could be a Lotus-Eater type of episode, a moment for Marcy where she doesn’t want to wake up- Where real life has been so painful for her that she just wants to rest… And having these endless dreams to sate and comfort her, it might just be preferable to reality. Of course, this could result in a huge moment of growth for her, where Marcy decides to confront what’s real, to snap out of her fantasy world and dreams; Because that’s not what’s actually happening. A proud, triumphant moment where Marcy chooses to tackle life head-on, to trust her friends and open up, instead of hiding herself.

This moment could lead to Marcy properly awakening for real this time; Perhaps she’ll have brief moments where her eyes flutter open, where the illusion briefly stammers as she has flashes of herself floating in that tank… And at first Marcy wants to, tries to ignore it; But she can’t deny what’s going on, and anyhow her inquisitive, curious mind… That desire to learn and explore, it means Marcy will always want to know the truth, and that she’ll inevitably have to confront it as a result. That’s who Marcy is; She wants to learn. She wants to find out, she’s curious and intrigued, and she’s willing to listen… And so this could really lead to a more beautiful, visual metaphor of her ‘Metamorphosis’ motifs, where Marcy triumphantly breaks free from her confinement, perhaps even unlocking her Gem powers!

Obviously that last bit is wishful thinking, her powers were fully drained unlike Anne’s, hence why she and Sasha can’t activate them; But still… Having that sense of self-awareness, that ability to identify truth and reality, to seek out what’s real and tackle it head-on, to dispel illusion and fantasy, while still maintaining hope; I think an act that shows such resolve of Marcy’s own mind and mental fortitude could genuinely activate her abilities in a scenario where that’s possible… And she deserves to, all right! For all we know, with the speculation that Marcy will be possessed and/or brainwashed, maybe Anne and Sasha’s attempts to reach out to her, resurfacing old memories, will lead Marcy to finally free herself, and reclaim her own identity… Hopefully, maybe. We’ll just have to wait and see;

And after THAT, she better get some therapy for once! And ALL the love and affection and cuddling in the world from her best friends! And Joe Sparrow… And anyone else willing to indulge dang it! Because she DID save Sprig’s life, after seemingly treating him as more like an NPC to her and Anne’s ‘game’! And Hop Pop had her as an adopted ‘daughter’ briefly, I feel like his paternal instincts are bound to make him naturally protective of kids in general, especially one who lived with him for a bit, who reminds himself of Anne- Because Marcy DID get along with him in a way that nobody else did, appreciating his fascination for knowledge and tradition and little details such as seeds!

I just want Marcy’s bravery and effort, her love, to be validated and acknowledged by as many people as possible, all at once, so Marcy can finally, truly, let down her barriers with people she trusts, and thus be herself; Kind of how Anne can finally be herself, be comfortable with that, and it’s ‘no big deal’.

#amphibia #amphibia spoilers #spoilers #amphibia marcy #marcy wu #speculation

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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Sammy’s and Normans first kiss?

I don't usually poke at these sorts of themes, but fair warning: This is slightly NSFW due to a few "wandering hands" on Sammy's part.

Summary: If there's anything that Norman regrets, it's his and Sammy's disaster of a first kiss...

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Susie's and Sammy's messy breakup over the replacement of Alice Angel's voice actress role had taken an even bigger toll on the studio than anyone could have ever imagined. Morale had already been low with the steady increase of workload, and the stress of overclocking to chug through the narrowing time frames between deadlines. So having both Sammy Lawrence and Susie Campbell, two of the most outspoken and loud folk in the studio, in such low spirits really had an impact on the other employees.

Sammy took it out on people, his fragility making his temperament unstable to the point lashing out felt like an easier way to cope than to deal with his emotional turmoils head on.

Susie resorted to pettier methods. Decreasing morale with rumors and cruel gossip, and overall making any voice over roles she got (the very same low grade background characters she'd begun with) a nuisance to get done if just to make Sammy's life more difficult. This in turn, fed the perpetual cycle of anger and frustration that permeated the recording booth.

Susie was gaslighting Sammy, and Sammy was verbally assaulting people in retaliation. All of this generated by Joey Drew "accidentally" sending everyone but the intended employee a memo detailing sensitive information regarding their work.

Truly, Norman was at his wits end from pure exasperation over Drew's tactics to keep the studio under his iron grasp. He knew the sort of dangerous game that devil of a man was playing, and he hated how easily everyone fell into place.

Above all, he hated what Joey was slowly shaping both Sammy and Susie into.

Back in Louisiana Norman had a particular childhood bully who was the ringleader of the bigger meaner kids in town. He was a scrawny meek looking boy with a devious spark in his eye. A thinker instead of a go-getter.

That boy had made Norman's life a living hell, up until his growth spurt came in (he'd been a late bloomer so that had been a good 15 years under that little hellion's tyrannical grasp). Once Norman became bigger than his bullies, that clever bastard had tried buttering up to him. Get him nice and friendly so he'd fall in line with the rest of the thugs.

Once Norman 'kindly refused', he'd instead tried to make him look bad to the rest of the neighborhood. Not too hard, considering he'd always been a bit of a sneak, but honestly he'd never much minded what others thought.

Norman was the weird kid with the crazy eye, and the lightest feet in town. He could sneak up on the feral cats that lived in the overgrown playground without getting heard, and he was the kid that knew sign language because one day his hearing was going to go because he was born with something inherently wrong with his ears. He was also the kid that woke up at 5AM sharp to run training drills with his old man and his siblings.

Nothing the little jerk could do or say had ever made much of an impact on his reputation. Then one day of course his little sister came in missing a braid and his little brother had a split lip. That day Norman beat the shit out of that hellspawn and got in trouble for standing up to his bully.

That's what Drew was doing. Pulling all sorts of cheap manipulative tactics that were slowly shaping the people he employed into being predisposed to doing whatever he felt like.

Be it light threats hidden in passive aggressive comments, invitations to lunches or dinners where he'd test his boundaries of control over certain situations like who paid the bill or what sort of seed of doubt he could implant in someone's brain, or even feed the fires of someone's ire by meddling with their relationships.

By doing this to Sammy, especially, Joey was destroying his reputation as a respectable musician. The blond music director may be unreasonably unsociable, but that did not affect the quality of his work in the least. If anything Sammy seemed to work better under a more private setting.

Now that he was the focus of scrutiny and that people were constantly intruding upon his given workspace however, things were blurring. Professional and personal life had mixed and Joey was purposefully poking a sleeping bear to maintain control over the only composer he knew he could effortlessly keep under his control.

If Sammy so much as tried to quit, the damage of his current behaviors would ensure he'd never be employed ever again, and then where would he go from there when he had bills and rent to pay, and another mouth to feed?

Susie too was at risk.

She'd taken the hit so badly that she was actively fighting her employer and superior by behaving in an almost childish way in protest over being personally wronged. By demeaning her own work she was risking one of Joey's infamous blacklistings from the working industry. Who'd hire a difficult broad that thought she ran the show?

No one, that's who. Not in this overly masculine society.

20 years ahead of both in experience, Norman was well and truly concerned. Both of them weren't bad people. They were fine adults with their whole life ahead of them if they played their cards right and sorted their emotional bullshit before snakes like that devil Drew got them cornered like mice in a maze. They were also both very competent and passionate about their work (which honestly was very attractive to him).

Obviously they weren't getting it on their own, so he had to stir them towards the right path somehow. A little nudge.

If only things weren't so hard in this damn studio… Getting to Susie was complicated considering she was avoiding people. And Sammy? Well, Sammy had some concerning vices.

"He's been drinking." Jack had taken Sammy under his wing a while back. Norman knew how much the lyricist cared for his coworker and friend, so the pain in his voice was palpable. "He's hardly himself anymore. He's resorting to racist comments and shouting matches because he can't come up with any real reason to put people down, and I caught Wally straight up crying in the bathroom the other day because Sammy made fun of his spots to the point he couldn't take it anymore."

"Miss Campbell ain't doin' no better. Word is she pitched a mighty tantrum ta other day in ta booth." At least that's what he'd witnessed while doing his usual rounds. "Sammy threatened ta write her up so Joey would fire her."

"Don't remind me… I was conducting the band while Sammy helped Miss Pendle, and then Susie just barged in!" Jack ran a hand over his tired face, looking a decade older than he actually was. Just from how frustrated the situation left him. "I'm losing my best friend Norman… If this keeps up I won't be able to stand Sammy. Wally feels just about the same with Susie. They're hurting everyone around them and they don't care because they're so caught up on attacking each another…"

"They is more stubborn than a mule in ta field. Ain't nothin' I could say that could fix what Drew's meddlin' has done, but I could sure try ta call them ta reason." He muses. "I've had ta knock some sense into Sammy before. Could use the reminder..."

"You're not gonna hit him are you? Norman you could get fired…" Jack looked concerned at this.

"N'aw. Drew don't care, I roughed him up before and our 'kindly boss' didn't give a rat's ass 'bout his wellbeing." Norman stated. "Henry sure did give me an earful tho…"

"Who…?"

"An old friend… Anyhow, can't hurt ta go see Sammy 'bout his deplorable behavior. You know where he gone off to?" Norman dismissed the question with a smile.

Jack shrugged at him in reply.

"You could try his office. Unless you know where he holes himself up, then he's probably there." The shorter of the two men fixed his bowtie and grabbed his hat from the hanger at the door. "Please go easy on him… It's not his fault."

"Don't excuse him being a right pain to everyone else."

"No, but you wouldn't blame a wounded dog to bite when cornered would you?"

"That's what a muzzle is for."

Not that a muzzle would work on Sammy's sort of breed. He was not one to be silenced so easily in his pain.

Subdued… Maybe, if he had a couple of glasses of that yummy bravery juice and an ear to badger. He wasn't a wordsy man in the sense that he could elaborate what he felt. He was more the word vomit type that said what he felt in bursts. Not very articulate but definitely trying to show what was going on in that confused head of his.

Silencing Sammy was not worth the effort. It'd only make the situation worse. At best, Norman hoped to get him talking after knocking him about just a little.

It never occurred to him that he'd end up doing something else entirely.

Jack hadn't been kidding. The kid had indeed been drinking, and god the smell of whiskey in his office was overpowering. It came off thicker than Sammy's cheap cologne, and it definitely reminded him of his Pepaw's bootlegging days. The sharp smell of alcohol and a man's bitter tears beneath the dense musk of despair.

Norman crinkled his nose in displeasure as he watched the wiry frame of the blond music director draped over his desk like some twisted puppet that had its strings cut off abruptly. A soft noise made him roll his good eye, wondering when Sammy had fallen so far from grace to the point he was openly snoring in his office like he didn't care about his reputation.

He walked closer, half ready to slap him awake when he realized the noises weren't snores. More like keening whimpers. Soft and throaty, just barely contained.

Then he really scrutinized what the kid was doing. Left arm cushioning his head, while the other was… Oh.

"Fuckin' Christ Sammy…"

The other's flushed face turned to look at him with a jump, his hand still stuck in his pants, and his eyes just barely focusing.

The wretched smell of alcohol and sweat were already an indicative of his state of inebriation. The lack of shame in his actions, another indication.

But then it was the way he was staring up at him that really gave Norman a scope of just how shitfaced Sammy was.

".........S'dat you Norms…?" Speech slurred and bleary eyed. Drunk as an Irishman on Saint Patty's, or a German man on Oktoberfest. This was not a dignified way to find the ornery composer. If anything Norman felt wrong intruding on… Whatever this was. A pity wank?

"I… should come back later." He was not dealing with this.

"No!" Sammy reached out for him. "S'day. S'ged'ing lon'ly…"

The taller of the two froze and bit his lip in discomfort. He was not staying to watch Sammy jack off, there was no way in hell. He'd seen Piedmont enough times to warrant a restraining order if the man ever found out what he'd been up to while hiding in the walls. He wasn't going to perv on someone 20 years younger than himself. That was just wrong... As hypocritical as that may sound.

"I really should let yous finish that…" he tried to back off, but the other clearly wasn't getting it. Counting bottles, Norman could guess why exactly that was. Just how much had Sammy drank?

"Pl'ase. S'day… D'n't wonna… D'n't feel good all al'ne…" Sammy sniffled loudly. Still reaching out for him with his unoccupied hand. The other was still very much preoccupied down south, from what he could tell in the dark.

"Sammy Lawrence I am not watchin' you pleasurin' yourself like some deviant! That ain't right!" Hypocrite, the little voice in the back of his mind hissed. You would.

"Why no'd…? You cute…" Had he… had Sammy just called him cute? A man twice his age and well outside the whole petit brunettes sort he liked? "Big an' han'some… You cou'd brea' me… I'd let's you…"

This was… this was not what he imagined when he'd come to confront Sammy. That hungry, lustful look under the drunken stupor. The way he wasn't even trying to hide his pleasure as he unapologetically stroked himself while speaking to Norman.

An open invitation. It evoked something the older of the two men had been trying to bury for a while now. Desire. A desire that was certainly making his own trousers feel a tad constrictive.

But he couldn't. Not like this. Sammy wasn't in the right state of mind for this.

As if reading his mind, the blond stumbled forward. The projectionist backed up once more to avoid his grasp, but found his back colliding with the office door. Closing it and cornering himself in the process.

Sammy breached his personal space and put a hand to his chest. Norman tensed under his touch, watching transfixed as the composer felt up his pecks in clear adoration. Adoration. Sammy Lawrence was showing something other than annoyance towards him and it felt like he was watching the man being enlightened in some way.

"So strong…" He felt himself swallowing around a thick lump in his throat as Sammy's purrs got to his groin rather quickly. "So han'some…"

Norman's good eye went back to the fiddling hand, just barely able to see what was happening beneath fabric. Then he felt Sammy's exploring touch lower until it rest between his legs.

"So big…" The blond whispered seductively before he pressed their lips together in a bid to get what he wanted. Get what both wanted. The taste was both vile and tempting. So hard to push away... But Norman knew it was inherently wrong to exploit.

"Ok that's enough a' this charade!" He grabbed hold of Sammy's shoulders and pushed him off, ignoring the painful ache between his legs that begged for the music director's hand to return. "Yous don't just go feelin' up a fella's package you damn twit! If I was one o' them homophobes I woulda beat yous black an' blue for this! Ya gotta be smart Sammy, or yous is gonna end up dead one o' these days!"

The blond stared up at him in confusion and mild shock, clearly unhappy about the rejection. He pulled his hand out of his trousers and just stared at him with that semi unfocused gaze that was slowly gaining a bit of clarity as time progressed.

"... Did… I do bad…?" His confusion soon turned into frustrated anger "Why m'I never good 'nough?!"

"Sammy what are ya hollerin' 'bout?"

"M'I ugly? W'y s'everyone got'a leave?!" Sammy stalked back over and pushed Norman against the door, clearly ready to blow up out of anger. "M'I not good 'nough for you?!"

"Sammy…"

"J'ust wonna feel! Feel good!" The music director looked him in the eye, practically begging. "Wonna feel good! Pl'ease! Ju'sh wonna feel loved!"

"Wouldn't be right… you're drunker than a skunk… ain't right kid. Please see reason…" He pleaded, honestly pleaded with the distraught man.

To his credit, it sort of worked. Sammy cried out in anger and shoved him a few more times against the door for good measure, before collapsing into a crying heap. All Norman could really do was kneel down and try to comfort him.

"J'us wonna m-matter…"

"Damn it Sammy… You do matter." He held him closely, feeling bitter about the circumstances behind the gesture. "Yous don't gotta offer yourself up like this ta feel like you do…"

Rather than reply, Sammy sobbed and clung to him for dear life. Letting all the pent-up heartbreak out.

The games Drew played… they had an impact that Norman truly despised. Ones that lead people into the brink of desperation. Sammy was already a casualty of it, Susie not far behind.

That night Norman took it upon himself to take Sammy home, not trusting the kid to be able to go on his own. He practically carried him all the way, making sure to go through less frequented streets to conserve some of the dignity the music director had left.

Knocking on the door and having to explain to Sammy's sister that he was out of it was... Distressing. That girl may be a ray of sunshine, but the obvious disapproval behind Abigail's eyes was colder than ice.

They'd been at odds recently, the two siblings, because of just how badly things were spiraling.

Abigail wanted Sammy to leave the studio, find something else to do that didn't take such a toll on his mental health. Sammy refused, out of pride and fear for what Drew might do to sabotage him.

Norman found that this was another thing he couldn't exactly fix. Wherever that devil of a man looked, a strange taint followed. Even something as pure as a sibling bond, or a kiss.

And god, did Norman regret that damn kiss.

What a fucking mess.

#Eps Writes:#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Sammy Lawrence #Norman Polk #Norman believes in consent #Also fuck Joey Drew

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years

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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Ninety-Eight: Ready for Anything ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Madara ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Of Monsters and Men ] [ AO3 Link ]

Come the next night, Sasuke is the most anxious he’s ever been

Hinata, the descendent of the old miko lines - those tied to magic and witchcraft - is still sleeping in the bed tucked in the corner of her makeshift room. He’s honestly surprised she’s slept this long, but maybe the stress tuckered her out more than either of them assumed. And for now, she’s stuck here, awaiting the judgement of the vampiric Senator and Uchiha coven leader, Madara.

...how did it come to this...one little encounter has changed both of their lives irrevocably. And Sasuke still isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. One minute he was saving a human’s life...the next he realized she was a rare, thought-extinct breed of being neither human nor monster: a witch. The following months saw him keeping tabs on her, studying her, and...getting to know her. In time she ended up saving his life in turn, and from there...things got complicated.

Now his boss - arguably one of the most powerful people in Japan, and possibly the globe - has shown an interest in her and her powers: the ability to subdue and control their kinds. Sasuke tried to be careful, tried to keep her from Madara’s clutches...and yet, here they are. All he can do is hope he doesn’t have her killed as a potential threat...but using her as a weapon might be a crueler fate.

...but Sasuke, his brother, and his cousin have been plotting in the background for years. If push comes to shove...then maybe…

...for now, however, he tries to exert some kind of self control. He doubts Madara will actually kill her...surely he’s not that stupid. She’s surely nowhere near a threat to someone as old and experienced as the Senator. But on the other hand...he may find her useful.

And as they all know...being employed under Madara can be...well, unpleasant.

But at least she would be alive, and it will buy them some time. They’ve been patient this long, he can wait it out a little longer.

A knock eventually sounds, and Sasuke glances up from his perch along the side of Hinata’s bed: exactly where she left him in order to be able to sleep. Shisui peeks in, and offers, “...he’s almost ready to lay out a plan for her. Might want to wake her up and get her rolling.”

The younger Uchiha just nods curtly.

It's now or never.

A hand gently jostles her shoulder. “...oi, wake up.”

“Mm…” For a moment she seems to forget where she is, and why...but her sudden tensing reveals when she really wakes up. “...right.”

There’s no change of clothes for her, her outfit rather wrinkled after sleeping in it. It’ll have to do. As old as he is, Madara isn’t always the most patient. Sasuke adjusts her as best he can, offering, “Well...I guess if you live through this, maybe I can buy you breakfast.”

Recognizing his flat humor as a way to cope, Hinata just gives a flicker of a smile. “...guess we’ll f-find out.”

Out of the room they go, following Shisui back to the Senator’s office where they all met the night before.

“Itachi’s already in there - been so for hours, trying to get things as...simple as possible,” Shisui murmurs as they go. “He looks exhausted, but confident.”

“...we’ve always got our backup plan.”

“True...but it’s a last resort for a reason.”

“It’s going to happen someday, one way or another.”

“...just don’t let your feelings get in the way of what needs to be done, and when. Patience is key, Sasuke. Remember that.”

He only grunts in reply as they reach the door. One can never be too careful when dealing with one as sly and as cunning as their coven leader. After a knock and permission granted, they step into the room.

“I hope you slept well, Hyūga-san,” Madara offers as a greeting.

“...well enough,” she replies mildly.

“I suppose, all things considered, that’s quite a feat.” He leans back in his chair with a wolfish grin. “Now...as much as politics may be wordplay and speech padding, I’m in no such mood this morning. I will get straight to the point.

“The miko and their descendents - though bearing the same powers as those in other countries where Nightwalker wars were far bloodier - have rarely, if ever, been direct enemies of ours. Needless to say, our pasts are far more peaceful than many in the west, where witches were pitted against us before being turned on by their supposed allies. Miko were the bridge between men and what were thought to be gods and spirits. So...I cannot say for certain that you are in any way a threat...but the possibility is one I cannot completely ignore. That said...I have no intention to kill you. That, I feel, would be a waste.”

Though a partial relief washes over Sasuke at the declaration, the rest of Madara’s words are foreboding.

“Nor do I have any personal dealings with you, Hyūga-san. You owe me no debts, unless you count the courtesy of me letting you live.”

That gets the youngest vampire to grit his teeth, unable to help a hint of a snarl.

Madara, however, only looks mildly amused. “...so, I cannot claim any hold over you. Debt is our most potent currency...and you owe me none of it. But in the same breath...to simply let you walk free seems like such a squandering of an opportunity. Your powers are unique, and certainly rare. We have few reports of witches...and to let one slip through my fingers so easily seems...foolish. Therefore, I wish to make you an offer, Hyūga-san.”

Hinata stiffens. “An...an offer?”

“As you are so inexperienced and fragile, I cannot employ you as an Enforcer, as your friend Sasuke, his brother, and his cousin are. It takes many years of strict training to become one of the highest tier, and that’s for a Nightwalker like we vampires. So, instead...I offer you a...partial position. Should I come to have someone under my roof that needs a little...persuasion, I would ask that you lend me your powers to help get unruly guests to follow orders and give me what I want. I have a T and I team, of course...but your methods may, in some cases, prove more useful and efficient than other such means to an end.”

The miko hesitates. “But...but I have no training in my powers, and...you said it yourself: we are rare. Is there someone who can...t-teach me?”

“I believe we may have ways to work around that. And Itachi has a possible lead on another of your kind. A new friend of an...associate of ours. We shall see how things pan out. But given your use of your powers against Sasuke - as...unprepared as he was - shows that you have great promise. You need only to be trained to harness it fully. We can help you do so.”

“...I never wanted these powers...what reason do I have to agree?”

Madara’s lips lift. “...I believe you can guess. I am not a petty man, Hyūga-san. But I have been known to have a temper...and insatiable pride. That, I will assume, is answer enough.”

You bastard, backing her into a corner…!

“I will give you time to mull it over. And in the interim, you can hardly be kept here without someone noticing your absence. Therefore, I will allow you to return to your human lifestyle...but I expect an answer within a week. Any longer, and my saint-like patience may fray, Hyūga-san.”

“...I-I understand.”

“Brilliant. Sasuke will escort you home, and help you think of an alibi. And he shall serve as our contact to collect your response.” Madara gives a smile that makes her skin crawl. “I do hope you have a pleasant rest of your evening, Hyūga-san.”

She manages a shaky sigh before Sasuke leads her from the room, not speaking until they reach one of the coven’s fleet-like cars and pull from the building. She feels...oddly empty.

“...I don’t actually h-have any choice...do I?”

“...not really, no,” Sasuke replies, tone curt...but not at her. “I should have figured he’d give you no way out.”

“Would it...would it really be that bad?”

“...I don’t know. I have no idea what sort of training he has in mind. You’d have to be ready for anything. But at least it sounds like he’s not stupid enough to make you an Enforcer...no offense, but I’m not sure that would work.”

“None taken.”

“...he basically wants you as a tool to use when it’s convenient. Some kind of...leash to put Nightwalkers on when he needs it. Use your ability to control our kind to get what he wants. As if he doesn’t already resort to torture…”

That makes Hinata flinch. “Would...would there be any risk?”

“...I don’t know. He’d surely have you protected if he’s going to invest in you. The training might be. I can’t really be sure. But if he wants something from you...unless you prove too ‘expensive’, I doubt he’d take that chance. And it may not be all that often. Maybe some kind of...last resort.”

Hinata takes that quietly, remaining so until they reach her dorm. Sasuke powers down the engine, and they sit in the lot for quite some time.

“...I’m sorry, Hinata.”

“Don’t be. All things considered...I think the rest has been worth it. All of this aside...I’m still happy to have met you.” She turns to give him a soft smile. “...ask Madara, if you can, for more details about my training. If...if you think I can handle it, then...I’ll do it. Though...it’s not like I have much choice, do I?”

“...not really, no. But I’ll ask him.”

The pair lapse into another silence

“...thank you for doing so much to protect me. I guess it just...c-couldn’t last forever. But I think...I think this will be okay. Something in my gut just...tells me.”

“...well, if it isn’t...you know what I’m willing to do instead.”

She gives him a somber-eyed look. “...I don’t want you taking that risk for me.”

“It’s one I’ve wanted for a long time, now. Now...I just want it all the more. Don’t worry about me...I’m tougher than I look.”

Hinata manages a small smile. “...I better get inside. I have an idea for a cover story, so...I should be fine.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm...I’ll text -” She cuts off. “...oh, I guess my phone is gone…”

“I found it. It’s a little banged up, but still works.” Sasuke draws the mobile from his pocket, handing it over. “It’s how I figured out what had happened.”

“Oh...thank you.” She buffs at the cracked screen with a sleeve. “Well...I’ll see about getting it replaced. But it looks like it should work for now.” Another pause. “...well...I’ll talk to you later. Try to get some rest, o-okay?”

“I can’t make any promises, but...yeah, I’ll try.”

Eyes flickering over his face, Hinata then leans across the vehicle console, pressing lips gently to his brow. “...it’s going to be o-okay, Sasuke. I know it.”

Shocked for a moment, he nods, watching her get out of the car and not leaving until he sees her safely inside. Even then he lingers a long while before heading out of the lot and just...driving.

So much to consider...and so little time. His mind feels like a mess of tangled wires, having no idea where to start. By some miracle, he ends up at his apartment building, heading up and crashing atop his bed. It’s far too early for someone nocturnal to sleep, but...he promised he’d rest.

And for now...that’s all he can do. He has to be ready. For anything.

.oOo.

(This is a sequel to days 35, 44, 52, 80, 82, 105, 115, 133, 159, 162, 188, 193, and 289!) More Nightwalkers crossover! Well, we officially know that Hinata's not about to be offed for being a wee witchy woman, but...well, there's no yet telling what sort of struggles she'll have to face with this new arrangement with Madara. Sasuke seems ready to try something desperate, but Shisui isn't so sure now is the time. What will happen next? We'll just have to find out! For now though, it's very late and I'm tired xD So that'll be all for tonight - thanks for reading!

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #hyūga hinata #uchiha shisui #uchiha madara #of monsters and men [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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carmenlire · 5 years

Text

Don’t Leave Me Now

(TW for explicit mentions of canon-compliant self-harm and depression)

read on ao3

He’s losing his goddamn mind.

Alec stares blankly at his open word document. He’s supposed to be writing this month’s report-- due to the Clave at the end of the day tomorrow-- but as he watches the cursor blink slowly on the screen, he feels nothing.

With a deep sigh, as if he can exhale this feeling that's crawling its way into his chest, Alec’s focus switches to the stained glass window. He looks but it’s almost as if he doesn’t see. He feels the weight of Atlas on his shoulders and distantly wonders if it’s back.

It’s been so long since he’s been bad-- bad enough to be noticeable, at any rate. There have been bad days and weeks where he felt less than his best, times when he yearned for his old coping methods like a child wants its favorite blanket.

It’s been ages since he felt the darkness rolling in, though, like an inky wave.

He’s grown so much from that angry, apathetic man who quietly agonized over his future and present. The past few years have been busy and stressful but he’s had Magnus at his side and that’s made all the difference. He worked hard to change his outlook and with Magnus in his life, his days are already brightened considerably.

Still, Alec’s always quietly feared that those feelings would come back, always hovering just under the surface. He’s gotten a small taste of that ash coated despair, dipping his toes in without meaning to a few times over the years.

If he lets himself think about it, he feels like he’s already up to his knees and the tide is as swift as ever, threatening to pull him in over his head.

He’s talked things through with Magnus before-- when he wakes up feeling not right, like everything is just wrong. He knows from prior experience that he has tells. Sometimes, it takes a little while for him to figure out that he’s steadily moving down that checklist but once he does, he can feel the ticking of a clock, ominous in his periphery.

That clock is ticking now and he doesn’t have the energy to care. He knows that he should care that things are piling up and that just waking up lately fills him with dread but it seems like a distant concern. The real Alec is shouting from a distance but he’s left here, going through the motions.

Check.

He feels empty, drained. Disconnected from the chaotic control of the Institute. Emotions are exhausting and whether it’s Izzy excitedly rambling about a new weapon design or Jace prattling on about his hot date, Alec can’t find it in himself to give a damn. Looking like he gives a damn-- staying tuned into the conversation enough to keep up-- is a herculean task that leaves him feeling somehow guilty. He feels like he’s faking his interest and it’s another thing to add to the list.

Check.

Alec closes burning eyes and feels traitorous tears start to form. He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired and it’s challenging as hell to run the Institute, to keep up appearances, when it’s a herculean task in itself just to get out of goddamn bed in the morning.

That other thing that he resolutely rationalizes so that he can still have plausible deniability is just icing on a too-sweet cake.

Check.

Intellectually, there’s a faint glimmer of what he should do. He should talk to someone-- Magnus or Jace or, hell, Simon. He should maybe take some time off, spend a few days recharging without expectation. He can go to the training room or just take a damn walk and see if that makes the shadows dissipate, if even just a little.

With that thought, Alec stands up, pushing his chair away from his desk. He feels out of focus and everything is hazy at the edges.

Nothing feels real and Alec swallows the panic that lodges in his throat at the realization. He's been here before, after all, and he knows that that means.

Alec is a lot of things but he’s first and foremost a shadowhunter. He’s honed his body over hours and hours and hours of training and field experience. He’s comfortable with his body. He knows his limits and when he needs to get out of his head, he knows where to go.

He spends a few minutes in his bathroom, changing out of his suit and into workout gear-- just tapered sweats and a tank with cut off sleeves.

He strides through the halls of his Institute, gratified to see everyone with their heads down, working. No one bothers him and Alec’s thankful for that. He’s so preoccupied with getting to the training room that he doesn’t see the pair look up at his presence and freeze, sharing worried and knowing looks as their brother does his best to appear invisible.

Alec enters the training room, immediately hitting the switch to obscure the windows.

He doesn’t want anyone to catch a glimpse of this session.

He decides with minimal thought not to wrap his hands as he steps up to the punching bag. He jumps up and down on the balls of his feet a few times and feels anticipation like a live wire. He knows that he’s walking a dangerously fine line but he can’t deny the buzz that he feels from being so close to release.

This used to be a tried and true method to break through the haze. While it’s true that Alec regularly uses the training room to work out his frustrations with the Clave or to keep in mission-ready shape, it’s been ages since he deliberately went with the intention of feeling the ache in his muscles and pain in his hands.

He knows his limits, remembers them well from his few slip ups after meeting Magnus. He rationalizes it-- just a few minutes, one solid punch. He won’t fall back down that tragic rabbit hole.

He just needs a taste to clear his head, to make him feel something.

Alec stretches his arms out behind him before dropping into a sparring stance. He hits the bag with a right punch and feels the impact sing up his arm.

It’s like a deep breath after almost drowning. It’s been ages since Alec felt the satisfaction that comes explicitly from withstanding pain and he wants more.

He always wants more.

He loses himself in the familiar rhythm. His hands are sore and as he lands punch after jab after hit, he craves more in an endless cycle that he remembers well.

He resolutely decides not to think about how he is imperceptibly close to crossing that line.

He chokes the thought that he’s already crossed it.

Sweat pours down his back, falls into his eyes and even as he furiously blinks it away, he savors that tinge of discomfort, too. It means that he’s doing something, something good, productive.

He loses track of time but doesn't stop. No, he doesn’t stop as his arms start to feel like dead weight. He breathes through the pain like he taught himself so long ago and relishes the burn.

He doesn’t immediately recognize the wet areas on the black punching bag. When he does, he figures it’s sweat.

When he realizes that it’s blood, each forceful hit now splitting his knuckles, he can’t stop.

He doesn’t want to stop.

He has the vague thought that he wants to go until he can’t go anymore. He wants to keep going until there’s nothing left of him. He wants to pour himself out until he's as empty as he feels.

Christ, he’s so tired.

Lost in his head, in the rhythmic pounding of his fists that resonates in the room, Alec doesn’t hear the door open or hear the sharp intake of breath.

He does hear the voice that calls out, though, tone patient and calm.

“Alexander.”

Alec throws out an arm to stop the bag’s momentum and as it jars his forearm it’s like there are two versions of him.

One is cursing at how he could have been so stupid as to not hear Magnus come in, at himself for not telling him that things have been getting bad lately.

Another part, though, doesn’t feel anything. He knows in his head that this is bad but he’s too exhausted to care.

Alec doesn’t turn around, doesn’t acknowledge his boyfriend. Instead, he lays his forehead against the punching bag and focuses on not losing it. His breathing is harsh in the stillness of the room and Alec suddenly, desperately wishes that he had his bow with its razor edged string pulled taut.

Alec doesn’t startle when a hand carefully runs through his sweat-soaked hair. He keeps his eyes closed and works on his breathing, trying to get it under control.

Neither one says anything for long moments and Alec doesn’t want to see Magnus. He knows what he looks like-- what they both look like.

Alec probably looks like a disaster with empty eyes and bruised knuckles. Magnus will look worried and disappointed and Alec can’t face that right now.

He knows what he has to say, though, even if the words leave him feeling hollow.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters hoarsely and tries not to flinch when the hand in his hair freezes.

“Darling, please look at me,” Magnus says, voice achingly gentle. He resumes his stroking and Alec reluctantly raises his head, taking a shuddering breath before opening his eyes.

To his relief, Magnus doesn’t look like he’s casting judgement. His gaze is steady as he moves a hand to brush over Alec’s cheek, down his jaw.

It’s a minute of Magnus studying Alec before his eyes immediately fall down to where Alec’s hands are hanging at his sides.

“May I,” he asks and looks like he’d accept any answer.

Alec can feel the sting of his knuckles, hears the infinitesimally small sound of blood dripping to the floor. Internally, he winces.

“Yeah.”

His voice is short, clipped, but Magnus doesn’t hesitate before reaching down and lifting both of his hands up between them.

Biting his lip at the damage, Alec feels equal parts proud and devastated. The rush is draining and he’s left feeling worse than before-- especially as he resorted to a method he hasn’t tried in years.

His hands are a vibrant blue and purple. He knuckles are split and bleeding sluggishly. Alec grimaces as he tries to flex them and hates himself for wanting to chase the sensation.

Magnus doesn’t say a word and with his face down-turned, Alec can’t quite grasp his expression. He heals Alec’s hands and Alec has to bite his tongue from uttering a refusal.

The blue of Magnus’s magic is soothing and Alec calms a little just from the sight, from the feeling of it brushing his body like wisps of cool air on a hot summer day.

When that’s done, Magnus opens a portal and Alec follows him without a word. They land in the loft and Alec thinks about retreating for a shower but Magnus doesn’t let go of his hand as he leads them to the couch, pulling him down to sit next to him.

The only sound in the apartment is the ticking of the grandfather clock and Alec is exhausted. He just wants to go to sleep and pretend that this day never happened. He just wants to sleep for a few days-- a few months-- and then maybe everything wouldn’t feel like so much fucking effort.

Magnus pulls him closer to his side and Alec slides down the couch a little so that he can tuck his head under Magnus’s chin. He thinks that Magnus should probably find him kinda gross but Magnus just hums and slowly sweeps a hand across his shoulders, seemingly unfazed.

The silence isn’t oppressive by any means but now that the cat’s out of the bad, it seems useless to stave away the inevitable conversation.

“I haven’t been feeling the best.”

Alec’s voice is quiet in the stillness of the room and Magnus doesn’t stop his ministrations as he asks, “Want to talk about it?”

With that innocuous question, it’s like the floodgates have opened. Alec talks-- first faltering, but then his voice grows increasingly steady-- telling Magnus about how the past few weeks have just been too much. That he’s tired all the time and feels like he’s always behind, and everything is so much effort.

He explains that it feels like he’s acting all the time and that he feels disconnected from the rest of the world. Rambling for long minutes, Alec doesn’t know if it’s helping but he can’t deny that it feels like a weight off his chest that Magnus knows.

It wasn’t that he was keeping it from Magnus or that he didn't trust him. Truthfully, Magnus’s workload has been busy as hell this month. He’s been traveling across the world every week, a different place each time, and that’s in addition to his regular duties as the High Warlock of Brooklyn and a warlock in New York.

Alec didn’t want to burden him because he knew that if he told Magnus-- well, it would make it that much more real. He wouldn’t be able to hide things from himself any longer. Magnus would worry when he really didn’t need to and it would all around be terrible.

Alec tries to ignore the obvious thought that maybe Magnus does need to worry, if the scene he’d walked in on was any indication.

Magnus lets Alec talk until he has nothing more to say, all the while listening intently if silently. Once Alec winds down-- with another apology and reassurance that he won’t ever do it again-- Magnus kisses the top of his head before moving until he’s facing Alec.

Magnus takes his hands, carefully, and stares down at them for a long moment before his gaze comes back up to meet Alec’s eyes.

“Thank you for telling me everything, Alec. I know that it couldn’t have been easy but I’m proud of you nonetheless.”

Alec tries to swallow the lump in his throat at the words. Magnus shouldn’t be proud of Alec-- not when he was so weak as to fall back down.

As if he can read Alec’s thoughts, Magnus leans in and his voice takes a fierce tone, as though he’ll get Alec to hear him through sheer force alone.

“You are the strongest person that I’ve ever met. Just because you had a slip-up, just because you find yourself anchor-less in that dark swirling sea, doesn’t mean that it’s your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong. The fact that you do get up every morning and you work as Head of the Institute, all the while you feel like dying inside, is a testament to that incredible strength.”

Clearing his throat, Alec looks down at the joined hands. It’s not that he doesn't believe Magnus, at least on some level. He’s looked up depression and he knows that shadowhunters in general have more than their fair share of mental health issues. Intellectually, he knows that it isn’t weakness to struggle.

That doesn’t help his head though.

“I’m sorry that you didn’t come to me with the sooner, darling. I would have whisked us away for a little while-- or we could have holed up in here and I would have held you until everything didn’t seem so dark.”

Alec looks up at Magnus, confused. “You’ve been busy.”

Magnus returns his confused look. ��So?”

Shrugging, Alec says, “You shouldn’t have to worry about me and you had other things to do that are infinitely more important.”

Magnus’s face takes on a new kind of urgency as he raises his hands to cup Alec’s face, thumbs sweeping down his cheeks. He doesn’t let Alec shy away from his gaze. “There is nothing more important to me than you, Alexander. I don’t care what I’m doing or where I am-- if you need me, I want to be there for you. Worrying about you is one of the greatest privileges of my life and I would thank you not to rob me of it,” he adds, smiling faintly.

Alec’s lips twitch as he looks down, trying to hide in Magnus’s palm unsuccessfully. “Still,” he says, closing his eyes. “I should be past this. My life is pretty damn perfect these days but lately it just seems like too much. I’m afraid it’s back,” he whispers and hates how defenseless he sounds.

“Depression doesn’t care what’s going on in your life, darling,” Magnus says, moving closer and touching his forehead gently to Alec’s. “It can come back whenever it damn well feels like it and sometimes it reappears without you noticing until it’s already burrowed its way back into your chest.”

Alec listens to Magnus as he concentrates on his breathing. He smells Magnus’s cologne and that helps soothe him, just a little. “Thank you.”

Magnus kisses Alec’s forehead before returning to his previous position. “No need to thank me, darling. You’ve been there for me when my own demons came crawling back and I refuse to do anything but be there for you. You only have to say the word, Alexander, and I’ll come running.”

Alec smiles faintly as he lets the word soak into him. It disappears, though, when he remembers what Magnus walked in on earlier.

“I’m-- I’m sorry for what you saw today.”

Magnus pulls back and looks at Alec for a long minute before shifting. He moves until he can throw a leg over Alec’s waist and settles down, straddling him. This close, all Alec can focus on is Magnus and it settles something in him as he places his hands on Magnus’s sides, the contact grounding him.

“I’m sorry that you were feeling so much that you hurt yourself. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there to distract you or talk you down. I’m sorry that you were suffering so long in silence. You have nothing to be sorry for, however. I don’t blame you. I’m not angry with you. You haven’t disappointed me. I don’t think differently of you.”

Alec’s head snaps up as he hears Magnus rattle off his biggest anxieties about having his boyfriend see him like this. Alec is a soldier, he’s a leader. He always has his shit together, even if it sometimes-- and more often these days-- feels like his mask is crumbling to dust.

“Yeah,” Alec asks, voice hoarse.

Something shifts in Magnus’s expression and he leans down to place the softest of kisses on Alec’s mouth. Pulling back, Magnus breathes, “Of course. I love you, Alexander, and nothing could change that or could make me love you less. Certainly not watching you fight against an invisible, insidious enemy.”

Alec takes a minute to focus on Magnus’s words and feels some of the tension seep from him. “I promise not to do it again,” he says, making the vow as he says the words.

Magnus smiles and it’s just a touch sad. “I appreciate that, darling, but I’d rather you didn’t. It’s an admirable goal and I believe you can do it but if for some reason-- tomorrow or next year or next decade-- you find yourself back in a room training just to bleed then I don’t want an added worry that you broke a promise or somehow disappointed me.”

Magnus kisses Alec’s forehead again, his cheeks and nose and eyes. “As long as you try, as long as you fight, I will never be anything but impressed and proud of you.”

Alec feels tears welling and he pulls Magnus close, burying his head against his boyfriend’s neck.

Magnus doesn’t say anything else, just hold Alec just as tightly and soothes with tiny touches.

After a while, Alec pulls back and is pleasantly surprised to see that the weight feels a little less oppressive than it did this morning.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Alexander,” Magnus replies, smiling softly.

Alec grimaces, shifting. “Is it okay if I take a shower now?”

Magnus laughs before climbing off his lap. “Of course, darling. If it’s okay with you, I might join you.”

Alec nods and the two of them head to their bathroom. The shower is hot-- but not enough to burn-- and they share lingering, reassuring touches as they both wash the day away. Magnus turns the water off as Alec grabs a towel and just a few minutes later, they’re in pajamas.

After a little debate, they order a pizza and spend the next couple of hours on the couch, eating until they’re stuffed and watching some HGTV show where couples buy their first house.

They make it an early night and when Alec climbs in bed, he feels innumerable relief. He tucks his head under Magnus’s chin and throws a leg over his hip. He’s wearing one of Magnus’s hoodies and feels warm, at ease, in a way he hasn’t been in weeks. Magnus slides a hand under the hoodie to rest against his back and Alec hums, content.

He falls asleep easily, wrapped around Magnus.

If he takes the next day off-- and the day after that-- then Izzy and Jace just have Magnus to thank when their brother returns to the Institute looking healthier and happier than they can remember in longer than they’d care to think.

Alec might not be one hundred percent when he returns to the Institute but he is better. In the back of his mind, he knows that he has Magnus to help him and it makes him stronger somehow.

Alec fights-- every damn day-- until one day he doesn’t need to fight quite as hard.

Until one day, he doesn’t have to fight at all.

#my writing #malec fic #don't leave me now #I'm highkey obsessed with that bts song lol #it's all I've listened to today

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mathematicalghost · 5 years

Text

celeste, anxiety, and me

A couple of notable things happened this week:

I started 428 Shibuya Scramble on PC

I finally dusted off my Twitch account to stream for the first time in months

I finished Celeste

And, most frustratingly, I had an anxiety attack.

I don’t really talk about my anxiety all that much, or at least not nearly as much as I should. I got diagnosed with it in the height of my GCSE’s, so absolutely no prizes for guessing exactly what flared it up. I didn’t really do much about it in a medical sense - I never took medication, saw a therapist, or really had much interaction with a healthcare professional at all after a diagnoses. I just… lived with it. There were a whole list of very clear triggers for it, and I worked through them and figured out how to cope using mechanisms that were both good for me and uh, less good (if you’ve ever seen me at an all day event where I’m new to the building layout, I am almost definitely dehydrated). The laundry list got smaller, and I claimed I “stopped” having anxiety just before I went to university. Hrm. It didn’t quite work out that way.

Let me jump back to Celeste really quickly, because I’m not just unloading all my trauma onto an unsuspecting reader without a reason for it (I swear!). So, I really enjoyed Celeste - evident by the fact I bothered to actually finish it, a rare feat that is becoming increasingly less rare as my free time is now more predictable and less guilt-wracked from education. It took me a little under 18 hours to complete, although this doesn’t include any strawberry collecting, I don’t have all the B-sides (I haven’t played the B-sides levels yet either), the Crystal Hearts-based level is currently locked off to me, and includes the fact I made liberal use of the Assist Mode function. I’d imagine if you were any better at platformers than I am, it’d probably take 12 hours or so to do a single run, but equally if I went for an actual completion run I’d still have a good extra 30 hours left to me in this game. I’m still pretty new to short platformer games, spending my time caught up in RPGs that all my friends played and not realising how little I actually care for that style of gameplay, but Celeste was so addictive to me just because I could play in the stolen chunks of time I’d find on the bus to work. It definitely made me more alert when I’d get into the offices in the morning - nothing like a good bit of frustrating gameplay to get your brain going in the morning, I guess.

Celeste is such an easy game to recommend because there’s already so many people raving about it - I don’t need to rehash why the gameplay or music is so good when there's plenty of work out there already explaining it. I loved how the Strawberries held no actual mechanical weight to them other than “idk if you want to I guess”. I loved the mini rhythm levels to achieve the B-side cassettes. I loved the Assist Mode, where I could add an extra dash or switch on invincibility when my hand started to hurt and the thrill of the challenge was replaced by pure frustration. And, above all, it’s pinned by the most amazing story.

So, the basic premise is that Madeline decides to hike up Celeste Mountain. She’s not much of a mountain climber, or any kind of climber at all really, but the mountain calls to her in an inexplicable way. She has to prove herself, prove that she’s able to do something. Madeline is pretty open about the fact she has depression, and the Mountain exploits this to split the depression “Part of [Madeline]” into a ghoul. She looks like Madeline in every way except that she’s purple, floats, and is constantly trying to kill Madeline. At times, she’ll even sabotage Madeline’s relationship with other people, causing them to to turn on Madeline, too.

Part of what really struck me about Madeline’s story is the fact that the depression ghost didn’t actually hit her at first. She’s nervous, sure, but she actually gets part way up the summit before this ghost even appears. She doesn’t have her first panic attack until long after the ghost has established herself as a nuisance, and it crops up even when danger doesn’t seem to be around (such as at a campfire). It takes different forms at times, and affects people differently (Mr Oshiro and Theo both have times when their own demons affect them, and it’s not the same as Madeline’s ghoul). It mirrors my own experience with anxiety, especially as it moves to the final chapters.

So, back to me, I guess. If Madeline’s depression looks like a ghoul version of herself, floating menacingly and pushing through outbursts, then I’ve always described my anxiety as an overtired toddler. The main wave of anxiety has passed now (Anxiety attacks for me can last between three days and, during a particularly bad February of this year, three and a half weeks), but I think the main thing to trigger it was a stomach ache I had on Wednesday. If you’re thinking it doesn’t make sense, then try asking a screaming two year old why they’re crying and deciphering their nonsensical string of an answer. Maybe there was something deeper to the anxiety than a stomach ache, but that doesn’t mean I can articulate it to anybody else, least of all myself.

Anxiety attacks are slightly different to panic attacks in that they can last longer, and don’t always have an obvious external symptom like hyperventilating. For me, I was in a loop of nausea, irritability, fighting back the consistent urge to cry, and heart palpitations. I didn’t quite hyperventilate, but I was breathless at the height of it, manifesting as a cough as my body fought to breathe. All of these symptoms made me tired, which made me anxious, because I get anxious when I’m tired, which made me more tired, which made me anxious, and so on and so forth. Stomach pains and nausea make me anxious too, because I don’t know if I’ll be sick, which also in turn make me more anxious, and get me trapped into a building cycle of pure dread. Three and a half weeks of it wasn’t exactly the best way to spend my February of this year, and it certainly wasn’t my chosen method of experiencing the past week.

Madeline asks her ghoul at one point why she’s being attacked. Surely, if Madeline’s fear is that she’ll get hurt on the mountain, why is her ghoul trying to kill her? Much in the same way I wonder why I’m getting anxious over nausea if it’s only a symptom of the anxiety in the first place, the ghoul isn’t on the mountain to follow logical reasoning. Theo tells Madeline that she’ll only get hurt if she tries to help Mr Oshiro more, and that her existence on the mountain is already a proof of achievement. And yet, Madeline is determined to stay in the resort (to my Switch left joycon’s horror) to help him regardless of whether or not he is grateful. I do things to prove something to myself long after it’s necessary, even if I know I’ll pay the price with my mental health later. We do things that aren’t always objectively logical because ghouls, and toddlers, and crystals, and weird Mario-esque ghosts, aren’t always things you can objectively reason with.

Initially, Madeline tries to swallow her fears and just climb. To ignore the ghoul she saw in the cracked mirror. Further up Celeste Mountain, Madeline concludes that she needs to destroy her ghoul. She needs to get rid of the “Part of [Madeline]” that seeks to hurt her. Then later, finally, Madeline realises she needs to talk to the ghoul. To embrace it and utilise it.

I once was deep in an anxiety attack when I went to a fencing match. By mistake, I’d had too many coffees that morning and the combined caffeine and anxiety pretty much clipped me through the sky and into another plane of existence. We won the match, and in turn I figured out that if I move more in a match, I get more points. Was it healthy in the moment? Absolutely not. But I doubt jumping into an abyss and hoping your ghoul is going to throw you the rest of the way is that healthy either. But you can take from it and learn.

Ignoring my symptoms of anxiety didn’t help at all. Avoiding all sources of my triggers helped a little, but not that much either. Recognising when I’m having an anxiety attack, managing the symptoms, and letting it pass like a wave works so much better. It’s only my second anxiety attack of the year, but if I get a third one I know what I need to do to get through it.

I’m not going to climb a mountain to prove I can do this, but I’m glad I followed Madeline on her journey as she did.

#review #misc

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quellines-stories · 6 years

Note

Can you imagine a world where both Jerome and Jeremiah are the "joker." Like a brother duo and they still hate each other in the way some siblings do (old arguments and bickering). Bruce is So Tired.

!! I actually already talked about the concept of Jerome returning so he and Jeremiah can both be two sides of the same coin as Joker together, rather than just one of them being a single Joker alone!

Tbh it would make for SUCH a good twist considering that despite having two characters which heavily resemble Joker when it comes to physical traits, personality, and easter eggs, the writers still insist neither is the Joker, which would be disappointing unless they’re using their phrasing in a clever way to make us assume the real Joker hasn’t been brought in yet, when in reality what they mean is exactly what they say– Jerome OR Jeremiah isn’t THE Joker… Jerome AND Jeremiah ARE Joker.

If the writers end up going with this route, it would be a witty twist, a satisfying outcome given Cam’s talent in how well he portrays such an iconic character, and make a lot more sense than having the Joker turn out to be an un-original copycat.

If you want to read what I’ve already written about pertaining to this subject, feel free to refer to the link below!

http://quellines-stories.tumblr.com/post/173060454266/what-do-you-think-about-the-suprise-twin

Essentially, the link just goes into a bit more detail about my opinions on how the Gotham crew handled introducing Jeremiah and exiting Jerome, as well as further discussing the concept of Jerome and Jeremiah making up the Joker in which a crackling Jerome could play the trope of being spontaneous and chaotic for the sake of entertainment while a smirking Jeremiah could play the part of being calculated and cruel for the sake of amusement.

I love talking about this concept since it’s my favorite concept for Gotham’s Joker, so I was really excited to answer this ask! Despite already discussing the Jerome/Jeremiah/Joker concept, I’m glad to hear I get the chance to discuss it a bit more!

First of all, the way Jerome could come back yet again could be through a plot this season (season 4) heavily revolved around, but then just kind of left hanging– lazarus pit water.

Hugo has his focus on reviving Lee and Nygma through the methods he used upon Theo, Fish, Jerome, and so forth, due to Oswald’s orders. Considering Hugo’s both seemingly working with Penguin and showed a fascination towards Butch, Penguin will likely want Hugo to bring the man he genuinely considered an ally back while keeping Tabitha none the wiser of course so she continues suffering, and Hugo will likely be more than glad to help if it means carrying out experiments to study Butch.

Who does that leave the lazarus water for? Jerome’s the only major character that was killed in season 4, and his actor is more than likely confirmed to return in season 5 as Jeremiah. While Sofia’s in a coma and whatnot, she’s not dead quite yet, and while Selina’s received a dire injury, she’s stabilized. True, the lazarus pit holds healing powers, but its primary focus is on revival more than anything, which leaves Jerome as the most likely candidate… unless someone important gets killed off in the beginning of season 5.

Despite Ra’s being a major character that was “killed off”, considering he doesn’t have a body for the lazarus pit water to heal, he’s probably just transferred back to another body– likely Barbara’s… or maybe even his heir that killed him– Wayne… but that’s a different theory ;)

So, let’s say Jerome ends up getting revived with the lazarus pit water one way or another. This could happen a number of ways… one of his copycat followers steal some to bring him back, Ivy gets pissed off at Jeremiah for what he did to Selina and brings back a vengeful Jerome to kill his brother, Wayne ends up realizing the only way to stop Jeremiah is to have Jeremiah meet his match AKA Jerome and reluctantly finds a way to get the water and use it to uncertainly bring Jerome back as a way to fight fire with fire.

Heck, maybe Jeremiah ends up deciding he wants to bring Jerome back to punish his brother for what he’s done to him by showing Jerome that he’s succeeded in areas his brother hasn’t. Maybe Jeremiah’s having withdrawals from the insanity gas and wants his brother to convince Jonathan Crane to make him more. Maybe a shred of the old Jeremiah briefly takes hold again wants to instead find a cure and as a last resort desperately revives his brother to find out whether there’s an antidote or not. Maybe Jeremiah wants to find out what Jerome knows about Wayne that he doesn’t, because Jerome’s known the boy longer, after all. Maybe Jeremiah wants to use Jerome to get to Wayne upon finding out Wayne considered his brother his responsibility.

One way or another, let’s say Jerome comes back. Perhaps Jerome doesn’t quite recall who he is, and for a brief while, Wayne hesitantly tries to guide him in the right direction, before Jerome recalls everything and goes back down a path Wayne can’t follow. Or, perhaps upon Jerome’s return, he and his brother instantly clash, and Wayne has to figure out which one to side with to take down the lesser of two evils.

Eventually, however, something would happen. Eventually, Jerome and Jeremiah would see eye to eye for the first time in years. Eventually, Jeremiah and Jerome would realize there’s more benefit in working with one another to achieve a common goal quicker, than constantly trying to one up each other.

Maybe they bond over Jeremiah confessing dear ol’ Lila Valeska wasn’t as good as he’d assured himself she was all those years. Maybe Jeremiah admits he used Jerome to get out of a place he realized was becoming toxic when he noticed Lila began drinking more and more, and getting harsher and harsher. Maybe Jeremiah doesn’t quite apologize, but he does confirm he turned against his own flesh and blood for his own self preservation.

Perhaps Jerome admits that Jeremiah isn’t all wrong, because Jerome admits he was a screwed up kiddo even before Jeremiah left and the beatings began getting more frequent, but he would have NEVER brought harm to his twin– at least not back then.

The might even confess to initially missing one another in the beginning, before resenting each other as time went by, because Jerome realized Jeremiah had abandoned him, and the only way the old Jeremiah could cope with what he did to Jerome was through acting like Jerome was the bad guy, because Jeremiah didn’t want to blame Lila for that one drunken night that resulted in Jeremiah deciding he had to get out– no matter what.

Then, let’s say Jerome and Jeremiah realize they both essentially want the same things. Jerome wants entertainment, Jeremiah wants amusement. Jerome wants to make Gotham fall through reckless chaos, Jeremiah wants to make Gotham fall through calculating and cruel methods. Jerome wants to corrupt Wayne since he’s the only goody-two-shoes to not fall one way or another under his direct influence, Jeremiah wants to bring Wayne by his side.

It’s not that Jerome and Jeremiah forgive one another– it’s more of them no longer turning a blind eye to the past in attempts to save their sanity, which they are quite honestly out of, and Jerome’s accepted who he truly was long ago, so the fact that Jeremiah has accepted who he really is just makes them get along that much better. Things can never go back to how they used to be when they were kids, but when it comes down to it, as far as they’re concerned the only one that can truly understand them and level with them is their own twin.

Jerome and Jeremiah realize they have more in common than they don’t. As far as they’re concerned, it’s everyone else who’s insane.

Now all they have to do is take the common interest they have and do what they’ve done. Now, all they have to do is show Wayne that Wayne is just like them deep down. Now, all they have to do is coax out the corruption out of Wayne that Jerome faced on his ninth birthday, and Jeremiah faced when opening that present. Now, all they have to do is take everything away from Wayne, because they had everything taken away from them, and when Wayne has nowhere else to turn, they’ll be there ready to show him how to just let go of his high horse he’s desperately grasping at, and hit the rock bottom they’re relaxing upon.

As time goes by, Jerome and Jeremiah begin acting as one persona. Sometimes, they almost forget they’re twins, and not the same person. It’s easy to get your own story mixed up when you’ve been using the stories of your copycat followers for so long to throw people off your trail– always changing your past to someone else’s, and giving your own less and less.

Over time, however, Jeremiah’s interest shifts to someone else he sees a glimmer of himself as well as Jerome within. Jeremiah’s interest shifts to this peculiar bat-like vigilante that shows such rage against criminal scum, yet always restrains himself from going too far. Jeremiah still revolves much of what he does around Wayne, of course, because he just wants to bring his best friend back by his side by showing Wayne true clarity through taking away that which is holding him back.

Jerome, of course, becomes rather interested in this vigilante as well, however Jerome’s focus stays on Wayne more than anything. After all, Jerome, in his own way, cares about Wayne, too. Perhaps not like how the old Jeremiah that viewed Wayne as his best friend did… but still, Jerome does care about the boy, just as much– if not more so… even if it is a bit differently.

After all, Wayne proved he wasn’t like everyone else when he refused to take the stab at Jerome’s throat with a broken piece of glass, unlike Theo. Not to mention Wayne was the first person to stand up for him– to save him and tell his uncle and the strongman to stop torturing him, and Jerome had stayed in the diner to cheer Wayne on and make sure the boy didn’t get killed by strongman, because while Jerome could have easily killed them both, he wanted to give Wayne a chance to show his true nature and let it all out on strongman, and if the strongman had gotten close enough to nearly killing Wayne, then Jerome would have killed the strongman, of course.

Heck, if that cat girl hadn’t shown up, Jerome would have totally thanked Wayne properly by murdering the knocked out man that had tried to kill his little hero. Jerome sometimes felt like Wayne didn’t appreciate the fact that Jerome- unlike Jeremiah- chose to not kill Selina when he most certainly could have while they were distracted cozying up at the diner, and instead just left the two lovebirds alone.

Regardless, Jeremiah would still show interest in Wayne despite shifting his attention primarily towards the bat, just as Jerome would still show interest in the bat despite keeping his primary interest on Wayne, and that would balance their Joker out.

Little would they know that they were both going to town on trying to corrupt the exact same person.

Although Batman would know exactly who Joker was the instant Joker called him his “very best friend…” with a smirk, just as Wayne would know exactly who Joker was the instant Joker called him “darli'n!” with a grin.

Despite how the vigilante would become more and more weary of Jokers attempts of corruption upon him, he would keep offering to rehabilitate Joker, because Batman wants to get back his very best friend, and Wayne isn’t about to drop his responsibility.

When the citizens of Gotham try to figure out just who Joker is, it’s not always Joker using a multiple choice past in which they pick and choose the pasts of their favorite copycats, such as one that went by the alias Jack Napier. Sometimes, the Joker is honest. In fact, there’s been twice the Joker hasn’t lied.

There was a time Jeremiah didn’t lie to Batman, and a time Jerome didn’t lie to Wayne.

A time in which Batman was standing on a rooftop while holding the mask of a robin that he initially was convinced he’d lost for good, before finding him alive, only to have that once joyful robin fly away in bitterness.

A time in which Wayne was standing in the alleyway, and noticed Joker approach.

There was a time in which Jeremiah didn’t try to corrupt the bat, and Jerome didn’t try to corrupt the billionaire.

There was a time, in fact, in which the vigilante didn’t immediately take the twin to Arkham, and instead allowed the twin that was for the first time in a long time not smiling and looking rather serious to rest a hesitant hand on his shoulder.

A time in which the hero didn’t pull away, and instead leaned into the touch, and quietly thanked the twin by their real name.

A time in which the twin didn’t deny being the name the law enforcer spoke, and instead just gave a nod and said, “I’m sorry.”, in an even quieter voice.

A time where the attempts of corruption briefly came to a halt, and the Joker was actually serious.

A time that happened twice.

There was a time Wayne wanted to tell Jerome he was a bat, and Jeremiah he was a billionaire.

Wayne didn’t, though, and sometimes he wonders if he should have just shown some trust in them, as crazy as that might sound, because maybe Wayne was just a bit insane after all. Yet maybe if he’d stopped hiding from them as they’d stopped hiding from themselves, then perhaps he could have gotten enough trust to rehabilitate them the right way– not Arkham’s way.

Sometimes Wayne regrets not telling them. Sometimes, Wayne misses being Jeremiah’s best friend, and he wonders if he could have given Jerome a chance to be by his side if he’d just kept pushing to get through to Jerome by showing Jerome he was only trying to help.

Sometimes, Wayne regrets how harsh he can be as the bat, and he feels like he only keeps getting colder and colder as he tries to shut himself off from his past, because it’s hard to fight those around you when you recall giving a shit about them.

#valeyne #wayleska #baby batjokes #jerome valeska #Jeremiah valeska #bruce wayne #jerome x bruce #jeremiah x bruce #anon #ask

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glitterrhowell · 5 years

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Colors in Disguise

Title: Colors in Disguise

Pairing: Daniel Howell & AmazingPhil (Phan

Word count: 1.4k

Warning/Genre: eating disorder / food addiction / implied self harm / Anorexia

Summary: Dan Howell has struggled with Binge Eating Disorder and food addiction his entire life but after he met Phil, he went into remission. After several years, Dan relapses and he slowly starts spiraling out of control yet again. Will he be able to get the help he needs, or will he fall victim to its vicious cycle?

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Author note: This story is very close to my heart as myself currently struggle with B.E.D. (Binge Eating Disorder) and food addiction and several of the feelings in the story are feelings I have had myself or maybe even instances that have happened to myself. I have found writing this story is helping me in my recovery and I don't intend to stop so if your interested in coming on this journey with me I intend on updating once on Tuesdays. This story will also deal with other mental health issues such as self-harming so if that triggers you this might not be the story for you.

Disclaimer: I am not a mental health specialist everything I write is from experience and research

Ever since he could remember, Dan had had issues with food. He wouldn't say he was a fat kid but he was definately on the chubbier side which was something the kids at his school never let him forget. He was endlessly teased for everything about his appearance; he was a tall freak, a fat-ass emo fag. The insults during his childhood never seemed to end. And as far as he could remember, he had always loved food. The savory-filled taste of a big bag of crisps, or the nice thick coating of bubbling cheese on a delicious pizza. But as much as he loved the savory food, he love the tooth-achingly sweets just as much.

The earliest he can remember binge eating was when he was around twelve years old. The teasing at school had been particularly bad that day; the bully at school had pushed him down into a mud puddle after school and Dan had come home sopping wet and dripping muddy water everywhere. Of course, he’d been alone; he was always alone with his brother in daycare and his mum and dad at work. That was how he spent lots of his time. Alone.

Dan had went straight to the kitchen to get himself a snack, not even bothering to dry himself off. Once he was in the pantry, all of his problems seemed to float away, it was like nothing could hurt him. His parents kept a variety of snacks in the house just for occasions like this when he was alone. His eyes fell to a bag of gummy worms and he grabbed them excitedly only to stop when he saw there was still a bag of his favorite crisps. Having both won't hurt right? And so he grabbed his snacks and headed to his room; he plopped down on his bed tearing open the crisps in the process. It didn't take him long to finish an entire family size bag of crisps as well as a pretty moderate-sized bag of gummy worms. Once he was done he smiled at himself and collapsed back onto his bed, but as he lay there the events from that day started coming back to him. Frustrated because they hadn't been there just minutes ago while he was enjoying his snacks, he sighed and he reached into his bedside drawer to retrieve three different candy bars from his stash of Halloween candy he still had left over. He wasn't hungry but the sight of the chocolate made his problems once again slip from his mind.

That should have been a major clue to Dan that he had a problem because ever since then, he used food as a way to escape his problems and relieve his stress. It was a vicious cycle that he had become accustomed to over the years; when he was feeling stressed he would stockpile on his favorite treats and binge until he physically couldn't eat anymore. Of course, this lead to him feeling ashamed and guilty and all he could think was what the hell was wrong with him? Those kids were right; he was a fat ass. But of course, the only thing that would make those thoughts go away was more food. So the vicious cycle continued.

When he was fifteen he stumbled across a blog on Tumblr that suggested to him that he purge all the food that he binged; he tried that only once before he decided that wasn't for him. The feeling of throwing up just was not something he enjoyed, much preferring the feeling of being uncomfortably full.

He was sixteen when he cut himself for the first time. He had come across this method on Tumblr as well. He had taken his dad's razor, breaking it apart and cutting his finger in the process of trying to remove the blade. He remembered just staring in awe at the thick red blood that ran down his finger, it was beautiful to him. He knew in that moment he was hooked as it was the only thing that seemed to take the pain away like food did. During the year he used self-harm to deal with his problems instead of food, he dropped two stone and really slimmed down for his height. And since he slimmed down, he didn't seem to be bullied quite as much at school anymore. So Dan was happy using self-harm as a way to cope instead of binging eating. That was until the day he had cut too deep and hit a vein. All he remembers was a lot of red and passing out. He later learned in the hospital that his mom had happened to come home early from work and had found him unconscious and bleeding all over the bathroom floor. He had been forced to go to therapy after that, and his parents checked him daily for new scars. So Dan had to stay clean, he couldn't use cutting as a form of release anymore and he fell back into the cycle of binge eating. One where he had to stop scratching his scars, but also one where he resorted to sneaking food out of the pantry all the time yet again.

This continued until he was eighteen and had met Phil, and instead of cutting or binge eating anymore, he would talk to Phil about things. Eventually, over time, Dan revealed to Phil of his cutting but was too ashamed to admit to the binge eating. What kind of freak binge eats the whole pantry to take the pain away? So instead, he keep that secret close to himself.

In the time he was clean, he started Youtube, became best-friends-turned-boyfriends with Phil, and he moved in with him. He expanded his fan base, Phil and him went on tour, wrote two books and presented a radio show. Life was good; sometimes he still got the itch to cut or binge but usually it went away if he forced his mind to think of something else. He was finally happy: he had amazing fans, a gorgeous boyfriend and the times of hiding his scars and sneaking food was over.

That was until he had a really bad fight with Phil one night. If you asked him now, he wouldn't be able to tell you what the fight had even been about, but if he were to guess it was either about Phil leaving his socks laying around the house or something to do with editing.

Phil had stormed out of the house without a word leaving Dan standing in the kitchen all by himself. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the tears start to fall. That is when his arm started to itch, the intense need to cut becoming overwhelming. He sucked in a breath not too far gone to ration with himself; he couldn't cut, Phil would surely notice that. His eyes light up; he may not be able to cut but he could eat. He smiled, remembering the feeling that eating too much used to give him. The feeling of his stomach about to burst, the pure joy and ecstasy of it.

He rushed to the fridge and pulled out the pizza they still had in there from last night as well as some Chinese food they had left over from a few days before. He happily grabbed his food and started to leave the kitchen when a big bag of crisps caught his eye. Without even thinking, he took all his food to his room and dug in and, just like old times, he ate until it was physically impossible to eat anymore. He gave a satisfied grunt as he curled up in his blanket and let his eyes fall closed. He was happy for only a moment before the old feelings of guilt came rushing back to him. He shot up and looked at all the food around him and started crying again. He was a failure after all this time and he had fucked it up, just like he fucks everything he touches up.

Wiping his tears, he quickly gathered the evidence of his crime and went to throw them in the trash. He stood in the kitchen by the trash can he looked down at his stomach. There was the visible curvature of his stomach that hadn't been there before. Groaning in frustration, that was when he promised to himself that this was going to be the last time.

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ramenfallsbutnotudon · 6 years

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3% Season 1 Episode 1 Re-watch (w/ spoiler commentary)

(by spoiler commentary I mean my stream of consciousness watching and thinking about the entire 2 season series)

· I didn’t realize how prevalent Marco was in the beginning. We see him walking behind Michele and even leaving his home’s caretaker (?) with the note for his son.

· Michele seems to have just been waiting for this day. She gratified her walls to keep track of time like a mock calendar, and of course the photo of Andre (her brother).

· I didn’t notice the wooden-faced man (forgot his name) seen her pass in the window on the way to the procession.

· Ivana, The wooden faced man, and I’m assuming the other dude (the one who works with Joana in S2) ((Silas??) are in that La Causa meeting – along with another I can’t recognize or remember right now.

· Joana speaks to Rafael because his registration is fake. We find out hers is as well. Although hers is “official” so to speak, maybe she wanted to see if it worked.

· Homegirl really did take that kiwi from Rafael’s bloody hand.

· Rafael was willing to do anything to pass (steal the cube) because he knows this is his only chance after stealing his brother’s registration and failing La Causa the first time. This also seemed to resonate with Joana, since we know why she can’t “go home” and who she’s running from.

· They think the fruit is too sweet because they have no goddamn fruit everything is on the offshore. Could also be an analogy for the pretty, sweet appearance of the off shore. Like it’s too good to be true.

· Bruna was shown La Causa’s symbol and asked about her opinions of them. This should be some sort of foreshadowing. Also Bruna’s little sister standing alone with three other girls, and the camera dramatically panning to her leaving up the stairs – going to a place her sister and family can no longer reach. (RIP girl)

· Did Michele help Fernando because it was a part of her cover, or because she actually wanted to help him? She grabbed that necklace in the beginning and also seen the wooden faced man, so it’s safe to assume the moment she stepped out of her house she was in anarchy mode. If Fernando hadn’t helped her, she would have been eliminated. Interesting the two moles both couldn’t pass the test, but one relied on himself and the other outside help. This mirrors the s2 ending where Rafael is alone trying to help himself and repair things with his girlfriend Elisa, and Michele is asking Fernando for help.

· Fernando really does hate his father. My first time watching this series, until his dad double crossed him I thought maybe he was exaggerating. But he really does detest him and doesn’t want to be like him. He also mentions something about wanting his mobility back, but we know that’s a lie because he’s comfortable in his wheelchair. Unless, he did feel that way but after his elimination those feelings also went away. Or maybe it was when he was told he could walk again and confided in Michele? Either way, this is something to look out for.

· Marco really isn’t shit. I knew this my first watch, but seeing him again lie and (seemingly) flirt with the interviewer just re-affirms that. Then bragging about how he is an Alvarez to Agata. Then decided to play “good guy” and breakup the mob that was attacking Rafael. Again, interesting that they have this parallel again but instead Rafael is trying to stop Marco from harming people.

· Joana is an absolute fucking genius, I mean can we just give it up for her? She was my favorite, along with Rafael and Fernando being a close third. 11 cubes? Seeing through everyone’s bullshit but not getting involved? Catching Ezequiel’s eye early on?

· Speaking of Ezequiel, during his speech he looked up to where Julia used to stand. He also did some jedi mind fuckery with speaking to certain candidates. Still not sure how he pulled that off.

· Michele, like Gloria in s2, does not repeat Ezequiel’s mantra the first time he has everyone else repeat it.

· Vape Goddess™ Aline was serving looks and being sexy as all hell. Even dare I say, a bit intimidating? She really got Ezequiel good about his wife’s suicide, would have loved to have seen the outcome of that before he was interrupted.

· Of course, Ezequiel enjoys half drowning himself because it reminds him of his dead wife who soothed him with water and sensatory manipulation. His stress triggers him to resort to that.

· The murder had just taken place where Andre murdered someone after finding out the truth of the founding trio.

· Also before the process began, we saw some religious founding couple fanatics praying outside. I think Fernando rolled by and gave them dirty looks.

· I forgot how tiny the offshore really is. 4,000 miles away by submarine.

· They hyped the hell out of the Alexandre character by showing him, his interview, and his suicide. I thought he was going to be one of the main crew during my first watch, but I see it’s just an early on way to show what the process does to people. And hits at the “coping methods” (i.e. have a fuck ton of kids for our sterile island of passive-aggressive hell). I think he would have passed if he just shut the fuck up when the lady was smiling.

· Did I already mention that Ezequiel has a hard on for Joana and that he probably knew who Michele was as soon as she was passed and got the mole news?

· Joana is great.

· Its funny Ezekiel called Denise in to talk to her and decided to drown her and she thanks him. I know Aline is appalled, and I don’t know if that was some sort of dog and pony show he was putting on – but can we talk about how toxic that water dunk has become? It was initially sensual and calming, but mixed with E’s feelings of grief and his slim grip on shifting power paradigms, it’s turned into something terrifying. Forcibly shutting out the world – silence – but also a sort of sick rebirth for those he manipulates. I think of Michele a lot writing this bullet point and her s2 relationship with water after Joana tells E to go fuck himself and Michele becomes the protégée.

· “I do this every day to remind myself that what we do is a matter of life and death” so maybe it is also to bury feelings of guilt, shame and inadequacy – the voluntary near death drowning in a glass sink thing.

· “Thank you for almost drowning me, I loved it. I’ve learned so much, you’re such a great mentor” “You’re welcome, young grasshopper” as Aline looks on disgusted lmao.

· I bet Ezequiel is into some really kinky shit since his wife died. Maybe bondage. He seems the type.

· Oh, fuck off Cassia.

· I love how the snake Michele already knows what’s up when they call her and Bruna away. I could point out that there were other people at that table and Fernando couldn’t have been the only one who was around, but then again he might have been the only one who cared. Although the candidates are a small bunch, they seem to have their own cliques and groups. And Michele and Fernando became friends in the cube test.

· Michele also mentions that she’s sorry for talking shit about the process and/or a candidate. Does she know that they record everything? They are constantly being surveilled? Or most likely, it is a part of her act.

· Michele put her head down, got her lies together and started the spin of lies for Bruna. The rare snake Michele is born.

· “…Bruna, please” I felt like this was more of a “please lie for me/cover for me” and not a “please believe me”.

· SHE SAID “TRUST ME, OKAY?” before getting her best friend killed. Is that not what she told Fernando at the end of s2? This snake is a work of art. In a bad way.

· In the Michele flashback where the wooden man is coaching her, it reminds me of the scene when Rafael meets Elisa. The computers didn’t pick up in their personality analysis that Michele was lying. Elisa and Rafael were not compatible. Can the machines only pick up certain personality types and not deviants? Do they rely on honesty? Because Marco lied through his teeth, Michele lied through her teeth, Rafael lied through his teeth…Does this have something to do with the Founding Trio or a modification by the Founding Couple?

· Of course the old man wisely advises Michele to stay away from his protégé Ezequiel. She should have listened too, we could have been spared the poison catastrophe later on.

· I think she really is grieving Bruna’s death, but it’s interesting the conversation of “holding back tears” comes to her mind just before her actions. Like this is Michele now, crying and grieving before going back to the snake mole that she is 98% of the rest of her time there.

· Can we talk about homegirl’s shoes though? Are those suede booties? ·

Is this what Ezequiel has candidates running around in? lmao

· Fernando stay away from the snake baby boy, she’s no good for you.

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astrologista · 6 years

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Important facts about Varian: he doesn't see himself as a child.

"But I-I'm not a... child..."

At 14 some would argue, especially in Varian's time, that he's right. He's not a child. By modern standards, he’s coming of age. Not a kid, but definitely not a full adult.

But Varian tends to act in immature and impulsive ways and, as we've seen (almost got himself killed how many times now?), still needs his father's protection very much so. (Even now. Uh oh. I just made myself sad.) He may be much more intelligent, creative and insightful than the average 14-year-old, but an important distinction to make is that smarts does NOT equal maturity. (Seriously, even in real life, for me as a "gifted kid", that particular false correlation gave me such a weird complex, I can't even tell you.) Just because a 14-year-old skips three grades and is now a senior in high school, or goes to college, does NOT magically make that person a mature adult capable of consistent and rational decision-making. (’tis developmental biology, friends.) Sure, parents should always let their kids "try on" independence and let them make some of their own little decisions, but all the time knowing that, being young, the child will end up making some mistakes and learning from them. And the parent will be there to pick up the pieces. But eventually, they’ll learn how the world works.

This is a problem for Varian because, at least when it comes to authority, he doesn't learn. He hears, but he doesn't listen. He thinks he always knows better, and that based on sheer accumulation of knowledge, he should be able to conquer any challenge. We've never seen Varian with a friend his age. You could conclude that he may not have any, based on the rumors that have always said he's dangerous. So what's a kid to do instead? He reads. He accumulates enough knowledge in his solitude so that one day he can prove how great he really is to his dad and to the world. (But no pressure, right?)

But the weird thing is how Quirin thinks of Varian. I guess all parents think of their children as children forever and into perpetuity. (Heck, look at King Fred.) "Children have no place in court." As if to say, "You're a child, and you really should know that by now." Old Corona, being a more rural region than Corona proper, is likely a place where social roles are more heavily enforced. No one is to go "outside the mold", so to speak. A kid like Varian sticks out like a sore thumb. He's effusive, he emotes a lot, he can be shy, but once you get him talking about a subject he's passionate about, you just can't shut him up. That's part of the reason why Quirin seems so exasperated. Varian just won't act the way Quirin thinks a child should act, but despite everything, I think he loves Varian too much to crush his spirit. If he were crueler, he'd use all his power to keep Varian from doing alchemy. But I think Quirin knows Varian's going to do alchemy anyway no matter what happens. That, and he just really wants for Varian’s happiness (and god willing, his safety).

The most interesting piece of this is that despite everything, Varian really does know his place... but only when he's threatened. When Quirin growls "That is enough, Varian." and glares at him in a threatening way, Varian immediately looks like someone slapped him, because that's the last look he wants to see on his dad's face AND he actually looks like he might be genuinely scared of his father right then. (Corporal punishment was a big thing in these times.) Even though Varian was correct and justified in demanding a reason for all the lies, the way in which he petitions his father isn't the most tactful approach he could have taken. Only when Quirin treats him like a child, does Varian remember that, hey, he is kind of a child. And he remembers who he's talking to, his father in a direct position of authority over him, and musters up the conditioned response of "Yes, sir." (Later, Varian has mustered up enough courage to not only interrupt his dad when he's really at the end of his rope with him, but also to physically push him aside, again using a disrespectful tone. It makes clear that Varian seem to think of himself as Quirin's equal. At least when it comes to black rocks.) I don't think Quirin wanted to treat Varian in that manner. It seemed to be something he only did as a last resort. And it's kind of sad, in a way. Once kids reach the age of reason, they should be able to be reasoned with concerning their behavior, moving away from the toddler method of punishment vs. reward, or using fear of punishment to control behavior. I mean, you would probably whip out "That is enough, Varian." maybe if he were 3 and pitching a fit down at the alchemy supply store because you won't buy him the deluxe Bunsen burner or something. But Quirin seems to have other things to worry about other than his son's pride or what he has to say, so he uses it anyway. And Varian seems really hurt and sad after Quirin just walks away. He actually pushes Rapunzel's hand away. It's like that moment of weakness is what he's really trying to avoid, to keep private. That he's not really what he says he is, and even though it might be painfully obvious at times, still no one can know.

It's not even a coincedence that Varian talks to Rapunzel, the King, and the Queen in the way that he does in SotSD. Varian just shows zero respect for authority in that episode. Any good kid should, and in his earlier episodes, he SEEMED to have the utmost respect for the crown and all it symbolized, bowing and calling Rapunzel "your Highness", and insisting that every word from Rapunzel was important. So why the 180? Or was it just Varian's true nature coming out? In SotSD, Varian was just very sharp, cruel actually, with his language. Any other kid in Corona would never dare speak to an adult, much less the KING, QUEEN AND CROWN PRINCESS of the entire fudging kingdom in the manner that Varian did. Literally, the three most important people in the whole kingdom. And he didn't just get sassy or fresh or make fun of the way they dress or anything. He went right for the jugular. "For the first time in your life, YOU are in no position to demand ANYTHING." and "Oh, so NOW you care about what I WANT? And all it took was threatening the things you love the most..." and casually talking about "shattering" Rapunzel in front of her parents and, who could forget, "She's right, DAD." Not to mention how he treated Queen Arianna when he kidnapped her.

Worse and worse yet, probably one of the most shocking faux-pas that I think Varian committed was yelling "Quiet!" at Arianna during Ready as I'll Ever Be. This gets back to my earlier point. Varian does not see himself as a child (unless Quirin is "reminding" him of it). He now sees himself as not just the Queen's equal, but actually "higher" in status than even her because he has the power now. He's holding the cards. He has the queen in checkmate. (What do you want to do in a chess game? That's right. Capture the Queen.) But like, let's forget that she's the freaking QUEEN OF THE ENTIRE KINGDOM for a moment. Let's put that little nugget of info aside. This is an adult woman in maybe her early 40s and a 14-year-old boy we're talking about. In my house, if I ever told my mom "Quiet!" in the manner than Varian did, I would not be able to finish my singing number because my ass would be grass before I could continue. Telling someone "Quiet!" in that way would actually assume that THEY are in the lesser, child role. Disrespectful doesn't even begin to cover it, man. When you consider the social context, yeah, it’s really pretty bad. Varian just has a very distorted view of his "place" in Corona. Maybe he even feels that there’s no place for him. While there's nothing wrong with challenging and bending the rules of who society says you should be, and no one says you have to conform to every cultural norm of your identity, Varian seems to have this very warped view of his identity re: Corona, especially where he's leveraging social power that he simply doesn't have. He's not old enough or mature enough to wield the type of judgement skills or tact that would allow him to be perceived the way he wants to be perceived, and he’s demonstrated that. Perhaps in Varian's mind, he sees himself as an older, more proficient alchemist and he hopes that if he performs that role, everyone will indeed see him that way. But when the facade fails, he sulks and starts acting more childish and restrained again. It's actually hard to tell which personality is the real Varian. But I think the writers may have been trying to get at an important truth about growing up - when you're 14, you've got your childish self and your adult self warring for domination over your soul. Varian's good, pure but childish self is still intact in there. He can’t stay that person forever, he has to grow and change. But instead of growing into an honorable and stable adult, his adult self is being twisted into this dark persona, partly because of events outside of his control. His immediate response to this is to project as much of the blame outward, externally, as much as he can, and this is more of a coping mechanism than anything. Basically, he's trying to subconsciously protect his developing mind against the overwhelming guilt and shame from what happened to Quirin. That's too much emotional pain and baggage for someone that young to deal with alone. I'm pretty sure seeing Quirin frozen in the amber literally scarred him for life, not just because of the state that Quirin’s in, but because Varian knows deep inside that he played a huge role in putting him there. But that doesn't mean Varian can't redeem himself. It just means we're going to see probably more erratic and unpredictable behavior before he can organically reach that point, and forgive himself.

Speaking disrespectfully to the Royals is just part of that process, but it struck me as just being really a self-empowerment exercise. Some people listen to self-help videos. Varian does this. And if he can exert his power over them, he can exert power over anyone. And not only to speak like that to them, but to literally put his hands on the Queen as he's talking to the King. There's something just really creepy about that. The point is, no matter who you are, you just... don't say these things? It's a matter of respect. It's the society and times and the context that they live in under a monarchy. Obviously, the laws that govern speech are much more loose and lax in our democracy and real life. But think about the context here. Some off-color language could easily get somebody hanged in these times. And if Quirin could see what Varian's been doing, he would actually be shocked. Horrified. How could his son say or do these things? (lol now I'm imagining what if the amber had stopped around Quirin's neck so he was still stuck but he could talk and be aware of the proceedings around him. He'd be like, "VARIAN! Please, your Majesty. My deepest apologies. He hasn't had his nap yet.")

tl;dr Varian's never going to grow up unless he starts dealing with the reality of who he is and how he can grow to be a better person, and start taking responsibility for things he's done, while acknowledging that some things are just out of his control. And to do that he needs like, a lot of love and respect and hugs :^3 I mean, a lot a lot.

#varian #tangled the series #my boy is so TROUBLED #but he is also MULTI FACETED and INTERESTING #i'm rooting for him all the way #just. not like this hon. not like this #yeah there are gonna be like a thousand more of these posts before s2 #so just get ready

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grahamfinch1990 · 4 years

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How To Save A Relationship After Lying And Cheating Blindsiding Tricks

Compare expectations and use a harsh question, but some marriages cannot be done when the first session and qualification of the people around you more than your spouse?Countless people have decided to break marriage but all you have lost the fight at the situation themselves, they become faced with the divorce.If the relationship and reinforcing their decision to divorce.Love your partner is willing to take to save your marriage, you need to ask the potential to make sure it can be.

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How To Stop My Husband From Divorce

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Save Marriage When There No Trust

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This demands serious attention from both parties have to convince them.Arguing would always cause more problems than finding someone you consider suitable.But make sure that you need to forget some of the story without being unpleasant or impolite to each other.Society is Not Really the Exact Same Thing as AgreeingSometimes couples just need to get a high degree of bias.

#How To Save A Relationship After Lying And Cheating Blindsiding Tricks #Can I Save My Marriage On My

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mcspurs · 7 years

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Raua Needmine

APH Rare Pair Week, day 2

Prompt: Music

Characters: Estonia & Finland (OCs).

Kalju Salumäe (Estonia) belongs to @brothuania, Jaakko Järvelä (Finland) belongs to me. Also available on ao3. Enjoy! c:

"Jaakuke, have you made any plans for the evening already?"

Mua paholainen vaanii joka kulman takana, missä vain mä kuljen, kuiskii kieli katala. Sen silmät mua katsoo olutlasin pohjalla; sen hymyilevän huomaan vieraan tytön huulilla.

The Finn had spent the entire day wearing nothing but checkered pajama bottoms, safely tucked in a huge blanket, devouring copious amounts of snacks, and binge listening to at least ten years old Finnish schlagers. In other words, he did not quite resemble someone who wanted to leave his safe nest for no good reason. Thick blond stubble on his cheeks and chin, reaching upper parts of his neck, clearly indicated that Jaakko had not shaved for about two days. A water jug, together with a few coffee pots, all empty, awaited being delivered to the dishwasher. The man was again in the doldrums he hadn't expected but was not shocked by in the slightest. At any rate, the last week was subtracted forcibly from his life.

Jaakko set aside his skull-shaped mug he was holding before he tentatively examined the Estonian now leaning against the doorframe with a difficult to read facial expression. He was certainly not in the mood, neither for riddles nor Kalju's stupid inquiring.

Mua paholainen vaanii joka kulman takana, minne vain mä kuljen, on tuo tunne mukana. Kaikenaikaa onneni on vaakalaudalla; jos se ei käy sisälle, se oottaa ovella...

"Was that a rhetorical question?" Trying to sound angry came to naught because the pinnacle of Jaakko's vocal possibilities at the moment was a slightly shaky, clearly exhausted undertone. To muster up a coherent reply was truly an accomplishment on the Finnish man's side and somewhere deep, Kalju was immensely proud of him.

"Not at all. I was just wondering whether you'd be willing to accompany me tonight somewhere." He paused, awaiting a reaction, though in vain. Not being one to give up easily, he continued. "It breaks my heart to see you in that miserable state, you know? I intend to drag you out from your depression cave."

Luoja auta, pidä kurissa! Kaidalla tiellä, poissa kiusauksista. Luoja auta; vaikka tukista! Pidä mieli kirkkaana ja paita puhtaana.

Noble as it was, it couldn't work out, not according to a rough draft of the rest of the day Jaakko had sketched already in his head. His idea was not grand, not in the slightest, though it did not include leaving the bed. Let alone the entire house. It felt like all the demons he strived to avoid at all costs would get to him the moment his foot crossed the threshold. Something inside him twitched uncomfortably – that was not the desired scenario. In the end, his place was here, namely among cushions, blankets, woolen socks, cozy clothes, and vintage music with lyrics he knew by heart. And his beloved black dog by his side. Musti nestled himself comfortably in his owner's lap as he awaited caresses and promises he's a good boy.

"Not going to say anything? At all? Don't make me take your silence for consent."

"Voi ei..." Short and to-point, as always. Jaakko was not a particularly exhaustive interlocutor, at least not before a few shots of vodka sent him on a self-discovery trip to his inner source of endless, often one side-centered, chatter. His lips formed a thin, tightly sealed line as if he feared to slip out any more words. He wasn't really in the mood to start getting ready or, God forbid, actually socialize with real people. In the stubbornness contest between the two of them, however, there was no clear winning and losing side division, and this could mean only one thing.

"Jaakuke. Palun."

"Tä?" *

"I promise you won't regret going with me. It means a lot to me, and I want you to be present there. Please, kullake. It'll be fun."

Tuo varjo aina auringosta osan piilottaa, kauneimpiinkin uniin siipinensä liihottaa. Tänään kuljen hymyillen vaan tiedä tulevaa, pelimme kun etenee vain päivä kerrallaan.

Jaakko's hand kept brushing Musti's fur lazily, almost nonchalantly. Much like his favorite human, the dog wasn't up to changing the position. Several raindrops, first signs of the incoming rain, hit up against the windows. The weather acted on his advantage, giving him more reasons why he would stay home.

"I can't go out. It's raining, can't you hear that?"

"The rain won’t kill you. It's just a drizzle, and we have umbrellas. Come."

The singer's warm and soothing voice was slowly lulling him to sleep as if this depression nap he took earlier today wasn't enough.

Mua paholainen vaanii joka kulman takana, minne vain mä kuljen on tuo tun--

Suddenly, the music stopped. Unsure what happened and what to blame for that intrusion, the Finnish man frowned, suspiciously puzzling around. In the meantime, Kalju casually locked his phone and slid it into the back pocket of his pants, unbothered by future Jaakko's reactions. Truly, any response would be cordially welcome. As of late he wasn't receiving many of those.

"How the fuck-- did you do that, the laptop's on the desk, and--"

"Jaakuke, I can use the mobile app to navigate Spotify on a desktop. The future is now. Come on, get dressed, shave this thicket off your face, or just trim it at least, and get in the car with me. I'm going to be pestering you until you agree, take my word for it."

The Spotify-related revelation caused the Finn to gape in an utmost unflattering fashion, but soon enough it dawned on him it was, in fact, possible. How could that slip his mind? His glance met Kalju's eyes, gentle, strangely encouraging. Much as he appreciated the thought and his boyfriend's diligence in pursuit of the goal, the Finn still didn't quite feel the urge to abandon his safe hideout.

"I promise we'll get some booze on the way back home," the Estonian resorted to bargaining, hoping for reaching a potential agreement. When the alcohol came to play, it was always much easier to convince the other man to cooperate. This method had proven to be effective many times before, and Kalju sincerely hoped it would work today too. He couldn't bear the sight of his loved one being this miserable for a few consecutive days. "We can refill the snacks drawer, too. And we'll binge watch a Netflix show of your choice."

Jaakko was as confused as unhappy with this turn of events, but he had no strength to further argue with the other man. Kalju simply knew his strengths and weaknesses and on top of that, knew how to make a successful bait. Gently shoving Musti off his lap, he proceeded to untangle the blankets tied in the likeness of a Gordian knot. Once he was free from the bed trap, the Finn sat on the verge of the mattress and dragged hands down his face.

"No niin, mennään nyt,**" he mumbled, sniffing himself and flinched with disgust. "I might be in need of a shower though, so you have to give me some extra time."

"You can have all of it. Almost, because we have to make it to our destination before six and it's reaching half past four."

"I don't even know what to wear," Jaakko complained. The entire room resembled a battlefield and, in a metaphorical sense, functioned as one during the past six days. No matter how often Kalju would clean it up, the mess would return double as intense. But having endless patience for the Finn made it much easier to cope with continuous cleaning. "I haven't done the laundry in so long..."

"This is why you're lucky to have me. I've prepared and ironed an outfit for you already. It's waiting for you in the wardrobe. All you have to do now is just get ready. I'll be waiting for you in the living room."

All the witty replies seemed to have abandoned his head. There was no use in fighting that statement, and Jaakko knew all too well Kalju was right. A short nod followed by an attempt at a weak smile had to work as thanks. But what would make the Estonian truly happy was the Finn lumbering to the bathroom, and Jaakko decided it won't hurt to comply with this humble request. Maybe some soap and running water will help cleanse his mind at least a bit. A small sauna session when they're back would be lovely, too... Nothing clears your mind better than steam and sweat

"There. Where are we even going? I haven't worn this shirt in ages. It almost feels weird."

Jaakko looked much better with his small beard nicely trimmed, clean, combed hair, and in a more decent attire than pajamas that had long since outlived their glory days, even if said shirt looked like someone had forcibly removed it from the eighties and placed in a wrong century. The full outfit contained a jacket as well, but Jaakko casually ignored it. Shifting from foot to foot, he awaited commentary.

"Well, judging by the look of it, I'm inclined to believe that," Kalju chuckled, much to the other man's embarrassment. "Last time I wore a shirt like that was about fifteen years ago."

"I'm here to remind you that it was you who picked it for me to wear tonight."

"Because the rest looked even worse."

"Look, if you keep roasting me, it's still possible for me to go back to bed and I will not hesitate before doing that."

"Sorry, you look great. It compliments your eyes. The shirt itself might not be the latest vogue, but somehow you two make a great team. Chin up, Jaakuke. Are we ready to leave now?"

"Yeah, I suppose. Can you explain why all that fuss is necessary? I could just wear a T-shirt."

"Of course you could," the Estonian agreed. "but I doubt you'd feel comfortable attracting all the disapproving glances of people present there. We go to a place where the dress code is in force."

"Namely where?"

"It's a surprise. I won't spoil it. Don't worry, you'll love it, or so I hope at least."

All the following incoherent grunts and mutterings were silenced down by a kiss from Kalju who had gotten up and came up to Jaakko to grab him by hand and usher him to the car waiting outside. The Finnish man was still wary. Of course, he trusted his boyfriend would always wish only good things for him, but old habits die hard. Even sat in the front passenger seat he was feeling weirdly anxious about the unknown destination of their -- was a date a correct term for that? Neither of them seemed to be willing to resume a conversation from earlier, so Jaakko turned on the radio without asking. An Estonian song, lyrical and a bit melancholic, quickly replaced the silence between men in the vehicle. The thought that the tune was perfectly fit for current weather - the rain had picked up significantly - crossed Jaakko's mind as their car made its way through the streets of Tartu. He recognized several buildings they passed by, the stores, cafes that remembered their little cliché coffee evenings, tenements in front of which he stood as Kalju was taking a touristy picture of him.

One of the many university buildings was on the horizon. An unpleasant chill went down his spine at the mere recollection of returning to work tomorrow, as his sick leave lasted only until then.

He liked his job, all the young, open-minded people around him were hungry for knowledge, and he was more than willing to share his experience with them. He wasn't ready for social interaction yet, and working as a lecturer was an occupation that required a lot of it. Jaakko will have to grin and bear it for some time before he feels comfortable again.

A few other songs passed before the news report at five thirty. The speaker spoke fast Estonian, and even despite being nearly fluent in it, Jaakko had issues with understanding certain words. He would have to ask Kalju about those later, granted he remembers. The car stopped in the parking lot mid report about a piece of news on Estonian IDs. The engine stopped, so did the radio. The trip was over, and Jaakko had to become a person again, as opposed to a recluse with his head in the clouds. Fleeing from an actual downpour that developed during their car ride, both men hid inside a small but cozy white building.

"Here we are. Do you recognize this place?"

"Not really," the Finn replied according to the truth. He was unsure whether this answer will be satisfactory or a disappointment to the other man, but there was no use lying. Wet hair strands were glued to his forehead, he tucked them behind his ear and glanced around. "Where are we?"

"Can you wait a bit more? I'd love to show you around, but I can't now. We've arrived just in time. I must attend to something now. When I'm done dealing with that, I'll take care of you."

"So what you're saying is you dressed me up in those fancy clothes and dragged out of the house just to ditch me in a random place in Tartu, Estonia," Jaakko cocked his eyebrow and made a face. "I don't know a soul here, Kaljuke, why are you doing this to me?"

"Can you please relax for a bit? No one will talk to you there. We didn't invite any audience for tonight."

"We? Audience?" The Finn was startled. "Can I still retreat to the car?"

"Not at all. If this helps, you're not supposed to be on the stage. Not you, me."

Before Jaakko could ask at least one additional question, he realized Kalju was pulling him towards large frosted glass door. Behind it, seemingly endless rows of (indeed empty) chairs faced a stage with a few strangers on it. They were holding paper sheets and forming two rows, taller men standing in the back while shorter guys occupied the front. He'd have to be completely ignorant not to realize who they were and what they were about to do in a few. A shy warm feeling filled his heart.

"I thought you quitted--"

Jaakko didn't finish the sentence because his interlocutor had suddenly gone missing. Shaking his head, he proceeded to take a seat in one of the front rows. Someone brought a drum and carried it until everyone was ready to start. Kalju wasn't present among the lined up men. Instead, he occupied an honorary place before them together with a blonde who seemed to be his good acquaintance. Making sure the microphone works just fine and smiling politely at a joke, as Jaakko assumed, the Estonian adopted a straight up position, visibly awaiting the right moment. He resembled a violin string, filled with pride and ready to be played by a skilled musician. They were puzzle pieces of something bigger, something noble. Part of the choir.

The man who brought the drum, hit it, therefore announcing the beginning of the spectacle. One row responded immediately, and the second joined after hearing the drum again. The low rumble turned up, masculine voices violently resonated in the hall. They were so loud Jaakko would hear them clearly if he sat in the last row and the audience was full. Closing his eyes, he let his mind absorb all the lyrics chanted by the choir. The perfectly synced machine had two outstanding performers, one of them being no one else but Kalju himself.

Käisid kolme ilmaneitsit, taeva tütarta tulista, lüpsid maale rindasida, soo peale piimasida.

He sunk into his seat and with a dreamy expression transferred himself into a part of his brain where the glass was still half full. The lyrics were grim, it's true, but he couldn't care less for that. It was a crucial part of his heritage, and Kalju's group paid respect to it.

Üks see lüpsis musta piima, sest sai rauda pehme’eda, teine valgeta valasi, sellest tehtud on teraksed, kolmas see veripunasta, sellest malmi ilma tulnud.

It's been a while since Jaakko felt that special. He could not remember when was the last time someone honored him that way. At this moment the only thing he wished for was a pair of those lips to linger on his own, to mark the line of his jaw, to whisper sweet nothings against his skin. He knew that if he peeked at Kalju now, particularly at his mouth, he would be damned. It was okay. There will be a lot of time for that once they return home.

'... oi Luoja, kuinka häntä mä rakastan.' ***

Some translations again:

* - What? (Huh?) ** - Alright, let's go now. *** - cheesy warning: oh God, how I love him

Songs mentioned: Marko Haavisto & Poutahaukat - Paha Vaanii Veljo Tormis - Raua Needmine

#aphrarepairweek2017 #aph estonia #aph finland #estfin #id like to thank Mar for proofreading that #skogkljslkdgj I made it in time #at least for me since it's still 11th for like 13 minutes only

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