#But also “life like wires” hits way too hard sometimes

[purpleandsilver]

Scarlet don't get emotional about Take Me Back Me To Eden (the song, but also the album) challenge: failed.

I don't know what I want to do more: grab Vessel by the jaw and tell him to name names or hug Vessel until he squeaks like a chew toy.

[hailsatanacab]

a father's son

Happy holiday truce, @dashing-through-ecto!! I was your gifter this year, I hope you enjoy the fic! Based on your prompt: "Do you need any help, Dad?"

Word count 2.2k - ao3 link

Things have not been going well for Danny Fenton.

Not only did he fail in intercepting Lancer’s call home, so now Mom and Dad know about his latest grades—he didn’t even get enough answers for an F this time, not when he fell asleep within the first five minutes—but they also caught Jazz taking the trash out for him.

“That’s one of your chores, young man! Heaven knows you don’t have many of them, which is why you need to be responsible and actually do the ones that we give you! It’s just not good enough, Daniel James Fenton, do you hear me?”

The full name.

It’s not often he gets it, but it sucks each and every time he does.

What sucks even more is that now, with what little free time he has, he’s cleaning the lab. It’s just not fair!

Broken glass skitters along the floor as he sweeps it up into the dustpan, ectoplasm still clinging to the bottom of the beaker. 

He can’t even goof off—can’t even use his powers to finish quicker—because his dad is sitting at the workbench tinkering with whatever his newest interest is.

Great. Looks like he’s stuck cleaning the boring, human way.

The lab is quiet, but it isn’t silent. 

Ectoplasm drips, maddeningly, from the gloop stuck on the ceiling. That’s a form of torture, isn’t it? Danny’s pretty sure he’s heard that before, that the constant sound of water droplets will drive someone insane. He can relate, because this is certainly testing him.

Dad’s talking to himself, too, little murmurs about what he’s doing, where he should be soldering, how it should be working and why it isn’t. 

Vaguely, Danny wonders what he’s working on. Sure, it’s probably some ghost thing, but that’s not all they do! His parents made some pretty great advances before the portal switched on and monopolised all of their thoughts.

Yeah, that might be wishful thinking, but stranger things have happened! You never know.

Every 30 seconds, the motor on the ecto-filter whirrs into life, syphoning off the excess, pure ectoplasm from the portal and filtering it into something less volatile. In theory.

Underneath everything, the portal hums.

A droning beat that pulses in the same rhythm as his heart. Sometimes, he catches himself staring at it, leaning closer as it calls to him.

It scares him.

“Shit!” his dad shouts, dropping the soldering iron with a loud clang. 

It’s enough to knock Danny out of whatever daydream he’d lost himself in and he whirls around to see his dad sucking on one of his fingers.

They lock eyes, both widening as they realise what’s happened.

“Ah, I mean, suffering spooks! That really hurt…” He shoves his fingers back into his mouth and his shoulders droop as he considers Danny. “Don’t tell your mother.”

Danny laughs.

“Are you alright?”

“It’d take more than that to put Jack Fenton down! All good, Danno, don’t you worry,” he smiles back before shaking his hand out and turning back to whatever he was working on. “Or, I would be, if this hunk of junk was cooperating with me!”

“What’s up?” Danny asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Normally, he likes to stay out of the lab, as much as he can. 

Obviously, what Phantom does doesn’t count. Phantom can’t help but come into the lab, set ghosts loose into the Zone, trash whatever weapons his parents have got going on, sneak out into the Zone when he can for some much needed R&R. The ectoplasm just hits different there.

“I’m trying to repurpose this toaster, but the ecto won’t run smoothly through the wiring. I think it keeps getting cooked by the element.”

“Oh? Do you need some help?”

Danny doesn’t like spending time in the lab, because if he’s in the lab then he’s either Phantom and he’s trying hard not to be seen or heard, or he’s Danny and he’s being punished.

But his curiosity is piqued.

“Yeah, come here, have a look! Perhaps another Fenton brain can knock some sense into it!”

So, he does.

Hell, anything beats cleaning the lab.

“You’re trying to run it through here?”

Dad nods and shifts in his seat to give Danny a better view.

“But you can’t, because the ecto is tripping the heating element… which is way higher than a toaster has any right to be, wow. No wonder it’s destabilising the ectoplasm, that would destabilise anything.”

Danny pokes around the casing, wiggling the wires back and forth to get a better look at the absolute mess his dad has made of it all. Sometimes it amazes him that his parents' inventions work at all.

“That’s what I’m thinking! But it has to be that high so we can completely break down the ecto!”

“You want it to break down?”

“Yep!” Dad says, clapping him on the back hard enough that he wheezes. He grins down at him when Danny turns around reproachfully. “Think of it, boyo, if we could figure out how to flash fry that ectoplasm high enough so that it evaporates—which it should do, it’s goopy gross liquid, after all!—then you wouldn’t be stuck down here cleaning for so long! We could take it to the streets after a ghost fight and clean up the whole town!”

Well, it’s not a Nobel Prize level invention… Danny’s pretty sure at this point that his parents would be laughed out by the Nobel committee. But, a quicker cleaning of the lab does sound nice.

It would mean he’d be stuck down here a lot less.

Besides… It's interesting.

“What if we…” Danny trails off and pulls the metal frame towards him, grabbing the tweezers as he goes. Vaguely, he’s aware of his dad leaning over his shoulder, the weight of him watching is a comforting presence that he’s not felt in a long while. 

The real trouble is that you need ectoplasm to affect ectoplasm, and that’s not going to work if the object of the game is to evaporate it. 

So what if they don’t introduce the reactive ecto until the end?

He makes quick work of stripping down what his dad’s already done and starts again, this time focussing on keeping the heat contained separately away from the ectoplasm. Just as he’s piecing together a trigger to concurrently shoot a blast of ecto towards the heated tip, Dad exclaims as he realises where he’s going with it.

“Oh! Danny, you’re a genius! Look at that!” Dad laughs and squints closer at what Danny’s doing. “Just wait until your mother sees this, she’s going to be so happy!”

Danny can’t help but grin as he ductapes everything to a piece of toaster casing to give it the first test try. Dad’s enthusiasm is catching as he whoops when the first puddle of ectoplasm burns off in acrid smoke.

They spend another couple of hours perfecting it, welding a case together and branding it with the Fenton F.

It’s not pretty—but then again, when are his parents’ inventions?—a long stick with a cattle-prod-like taser at the end. Instead of electricity, it launches ectoplasm from one rod and superheats the other. When activated, all you need to do is touch the tip to a puddle and poof! It’s gone.

Danny shivers as he watches another pool go up.

But, no! He’s thinking about it wrong. It’s not a cattle-prod, it’s more like one of those sticks you see people using on the highway to jab at the litter on the floor. It’s for cleaning. It’s going to make his lab cleaning chores way easier! It’s—

“Danny, just look at it!”

Danny looks at it, and then back to his father’s face when he can’t bear to see the smoking ecto anymore. It’s painfully happy and Danny does his best to be happy, too.

“Here!” Dad shoves the contraption into Danny’s arms. “You use that and finish what you’re doing and then when you’re done—I can’t believe I’m saying this, galloping ghouls, I’m so happy, I’m working with my boy—we can get to work transferring it over to the Jack o’ Nine Tails! Imagine it, Danny, with one whip and that pesky poltergeist Phantom will be gone!”

Danny freezes.

It feels as if Dad’s just dumped a bucket of ice water over him.

“Poof! Up in smoke!”

The fumes are getting to him. That must be it. His head is swimming and his stomach is churning. There’s a ringing in his ears and it melds with the sharp, stinging whirr of ectoplasm sizzling. It pulses in time with the portal behind him.

He stumbles, almost goes down—almost throws up—but it doesn’t matter. Dad doesn’t see him, already turned away back to the work bench.

It doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

You know what, it’s okay! It’ll be okay, Danny can sneak back down here later tonight and he can undo it all, it doesn’t matter!

Take a deep breath, now, finish cleaning the lab, ignore Dad—it doesn’t matter—and get this over with. Being here makes his skin crawl, he needs to finish—

“I’m so proud of you, Danny.”

For the second time, Danny stops.

Dad doesn’t say anything else, just sits with his back to him, opening and closing his hand over a screwdriver with the Jack o’ Nine Tails splayed out in front of him.

It takes longer than Danny wants to find his voice, but he manages to croak out, “What?”

“I’m proud of you, Danno. I know this year hasn’t been easy for you, don’t think we haven’t noticed. Your mom and I have been talking about how you're doing at school. We're not blind. We know kids can be cruel, and that Dash Baxter… But we're so proud of you for not rising to it. We love you so much, Danny.”

A lump grows in Danny’s throat and his eyes prickle.

His fingers bleach white where they grip the Fenton Evaporator too tight.

“Look at what you can do when you try, Danny! This is the boy that I know, this is the Danny that I love. I’m so proud of what we’ve done here today. It’ll make the world a better place, just you wait! Now, come on, boyo, pass me that soldering iron and let’s really get stuck in!”

And… And Danny does.

With shaky limbs and tears threatening to spill, Danny reaches over and passes Dad the soldering iron, watching as he gets to work, and when his dad asks him to get his hands dirty—“Here, run this wire up the rope, there’s a good boy!”—he does.

Danny does it all and he does it well.

He sucks in a deep breath, swipes a hand over his eyes, and he helps his dad.

He laughs when Dad tells his stupid jokes:

“Quick! What’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“I don’t know, Dad, what’s red, white, and blue all over?”

“A ghost that we’ve beaten into oblivion!”

And he hopes that his mom is going to be just as proud as Dad says she will be when she sees what they’ve done.

It’s easy, really.

If he doesn’t think about it, if he tucks his mind away and just lets his hands get on with it, then he’s just helping his dad and he can do that. He can do it.

He can do it.

So, no, he doesn’t sabotage what they’ve built. He doesn’t add in a failsafe. He doesn’t loosen a few screws, or overload the element, or untwist a few wires.

Danny does his best and at the end of the day his dad holds up the new and improved Jack o’ Nine Tails and absolutely beams at him. A work of art, he calls it.

Danny doesn’t sabotage it then and he won’t sabotage it later, because it’s a work of art. This is what he and his dad built. Together.

Danny can’t help but grin back, happiness curling in his belly even as it gives a sickening lurch.

He doesn’t eat dinner that night, he can’t.

He stays downstairs long enough to present the new weapon to Mom—very pointedly ignoring Jazz’s look—and then he heads upstairs. There’s an English essay he needs to get started on, after all.

He doesn’t miss the look Mom and Dad share, the fond tenderness, the love, the hope, all directed at him.

He’s happy.

They’re happy.

They’re proud of him.

And despite it all, he had fun today! 

When he lays down on his bed, he smiles and he can’t stop the laughter bubbling up as he thinks about his dad. At one point, he had been holding up a circular piece of metal he’d cannibalised from the lamp shade to his eyes, moving it back and forth as he pulled his funny faces, and some of that full belly laugh creeps back in as he remembers doing the same back.

He laughs so hard until he cries, and he cries, and he cries. 

Today, he and his dad built a weapon. 

Tomorrow, it'll be used on him, but that's okay. 

It's okay because today, today his dad was proud.

[youcouldmakealife]

2024 Writing Wrap

Well, my goal for 2024 was 225,000 words, and I did exceed that, so I believe that is what we call a success. Never mind that my ~secret goal was 250k and that the 225k goal was just in case anything came up. And it did. So that is technically still a success! So I’m trying not to be grumbly about it.

What I’m not grumbly about at all is how, exactly, that final word count broke down by project (actual numbers below).

I don’t think the COTT and SAIT word counts could be closer than if I’d been intentionally trying to balance them. Which, I cannot stress enough, I was not. I was actually expecting a 2:1 COTT v SAIT ratio, mostly because, well, SAIT hasn’t been easy to write at times, and I was fully prepared for that to continue. But then something happened. I won’t investigate it too closely — gift horses, etc — but the floodgates finally broke, and a character that was so reluctant to speak honestly about himself and his life that it left him (and me) mute was suddenly willing to talk.

(We all know what happened. Robbie Lombardi happened.)

So, coming into this year I set myself a 13 part (approx 27.5k) goal for SAIT, and a 60k goal for COTT. They both ended up around 75k. Add in the SOTWs&Ms, which ended up around 65k combined (goal was 60k), and on all counts, I beat my individual project goals, and absolutely smashed the one for SAIT.

Considering this year I also got the TOTI paperback done and published the final installment of Between the Teeth, I think it was a pretty productive year, particularly considering I was finally diagnosed with Audhd in January, and have spent a lot of time and energy processing that, reframing a lot of things, and adjusting my work style to better accommodate my neurotype.

It's all been a big learning process, though one slightly derailed by the arrival of COVID and the…refusal to leave of COVID…and a fraught one at times, but it’s really been a relief to look at things like ‘this doesn’t work for me because my brain isn’t wired that way’ versus ‘this doesn’t work for me because I’m lazy/not trying hard enough/not living up to my ‘potential’, ad nauseum. It’s been…good. Tough, and emotional, and sometimes exhausting, but good. And I think that might be the other reason that Georgie started to speak again: how the fuck was I supposed to write him starting to move forward when I was still masking? How could I?

Meanwhile my other project was literally ‘okay, what if I worked through some of this by making my ADHD and my autism kiss? What if I did that?’ And COTT has been an absolute delight for me as a somewhat chaotic way for me to examine how these totally different beings co-exist. Throw in me shoving a ton of common romance tropes, gleefully undermining them (sometimes even intentionally! Though COTT can indeed be marked down as yet another failure in my quest to write some proper hate sex), a whole lot of ‘look, he actually gets me’ that is probably a liiiittle too close to home (and, I think, the home of most ND people), and everybody Doing Their Best (even when it fails, even when it doesn’t look like it, even when they aren’t rewarded for that), it is probably the closest thing I’ve ever written to pure Id fic, and I’m including the fucking Scouts here.

So thank you for all being very patient with me working through my ~stuff via narrative, and I’m really glad some of you (Audhd, autistic, ADHD, and otherwise) see yourselves reflected in Holden and/or James as well. Every single thing that annoys about them is probably something I do. (Uh. Off the ice. I don’t throw dirty hits. And I sadly don’t have a hockey room either.) I love them both a lot and I genuinely think my loving them, with all their faults (that are often my faults), has made my relationship with myself better, because I too am Always Doing My Best, even when it doesn’t look like it. And sometimes I forget that.

Okay, enough of the navel gazing, time for numbers!

These may seem slightly different than the word counts on, say, AO3, but at the end of each writing day I log my process. It’s always a little inflated -- some of it ends up on the cutting room floor, some of it applies to works currently still in progress, etc.

But, end of the year, here’s the breakdown*:

*rounded up/down to the nearest thousand, but that was the extent of the rounding, they're just naturally handsome numbers

Cards on the Table: 75k

Still Always in Tandem: 75k

SOTW/Ms and Extras: 82k

(Comprised of: SOTWs: 34k, SOTMs: 33k, Extras 15k)

For a combined total of 232k, squeaking in a mere 7k above my 225k goal.

But wait! There’s the misc (includes some Gritty work, last minute BTT additions, the bracket challenge, and other things that don’t fit the categories above), which adds an additional 13k.

So, in fact, it all adds up to 245k. Which is pretty damn close to 250k in my humble opinion, especially considering I spent a full quarter of 2024 sick. So I think we can call this year a success, at least on the writing front.

[shanastoryteller]

so, you've been posting/reblogging about sam being the exception to the rules of "This is alright to do when everyone else does it/ It's not alright to do but we can do it to sam". Do you have any fanfic recs that throw that hat around? Like, they realize they were actually in the wrong? or some good fix it? some bad break it?

mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

honestly not this fandom's strong suit. probably the most self indulgent part of see something say something is having dean accept that sam going to stanford wasn't a personal attack, was something he needed to do for himself, and the no contact trauma of it all was pretty much entirely john's fault. in canon he's literally betrayed by sam going to college until he DIES. he never chills or gives credit to the idea that sam deserved and needed space to grow outside of him

there are a couple "sam dies in the panic room" fics floating around out there, which are pretty good, but relatively short and sort of only deal with the immediate regret that dean feels because his brother is dead and not really because he understands how he fucked up

here are some that sort of qualify, but nothing that quite scratches the id for this in the exact way i'd like. unfortunately i think to really dig into this (for me) you've got to hit "sam was both saved and destroyed by dean's deal" and "dean came back wrong" right over the head before you can really deal with the repercussions of it. which is both hard and sort of an unpopular opinion! so i get it

feel free to drop your own recs if you have them!

Crossed Wires by rivkat (summary: A spnj2xmas gift for costsofregret, who liked angst, pining!Sam, one thinking the other is dead, and hurt/comfort. It’s like you know me.) sort of deals with the concept of sam's autonomy but it's pretty brief.

One Saved Message by ratherastory (summary: After a hunting accident puts Sam out of commission for a couple of days, Dean decides to surprise his brother with a new phone, since his old one is toast. Even better is when he finds that he’s been able to save all of Sam’s old information and restore it to his cell. That’s when he discovers an old voicemail that Sam has kept saved for the last two and a half years… Charity fic for help_japan. sinka won a fic from me and requested some Voicemail fix-it fic, and that is what I have attempted here. Spoilers for all aired episodes up to 6.19.) deals with the voicemail but not really all the actions dean took to make that voicemail believable

Paint Me a Monster by TheMarvelousTolkienJob (summary: Sam is a freak. He knows that and, after everything that happened with Ruby and the demon blood, Dean finally does too. Not that they actually talk about it or anything. No, they wait around for Sam to be kidnapped and tortured before they do that.) is a fic focused on all of this and it addresses the voicemail and the reasons the voicemail was believable but it doesn't end with anything so much resolved as it is at least in the open air. which is a perfectly good ending, i just want closure T_T

The Talking Cure by Mollyamory (Molly) (summary: Dean tries to keep his mouth shut, but as much as he wants to keep quiet, he also wants to say--) set immediately after season 8 with no gadreel. dean feels the need to reiterate what he said in the church

Soft Like a Blue Triceratops by sprinkles888 (summary: Sam finishes the trials, expecting to die. Instead, he gets a life that sounds idyllic - the demons locked away, the angels gone (mostly), and Dean by his side. All he has to worry about is the various monsters attempting to fill the power vacuum; a too-empty bunker; his own deteriorating mental health; Dean’s dive back into alcoholism; and not getting enough sleep (even for him). Oh yeah, and that pesky fact that his dreams are starting to seem a little bit too much like visions. He can handle it. He can. (Sometimes he can’t.) If this is healing, Sam sure doesn’t want to know what deterioration looks like. A season eight finale/post-season 8 AU) is probably the closest i've found that really comes down to grilling both on how messed up the brothers are and how it's taking a toll on sam specifically, but it doesn't really get into the double standards of it all. bold for emphasis is mine, because my god that's really the whole fic. great exploration of them, but it did hurt to read

not at all in the vein of the ask, but by the same author Sounds Like Truth and Feels Like Courage by sprinkles888 (summary: Turns out that the Men of Letters had a way to perform magic on the regular without the messiness of witchcraft. All they need for it is a pair of soulmates, a couple of rings from the bunker, and a willingness to spend time platonically touching. And, well, the Winchesters are already sitting at two out of three… (In which Sam and Dean cuddle, spend time being emotionally vulnerable, mend relationships, learn just how powerful their souls are, find power in memories, watch way too much Netflix, and become targets of an organized group of monsters set on killing them.)) is a comfy warm fic about the boys by the same author that i can reread without hurting my own feelings

[bluegekk0]

for the 50 questions for your characters ask game.. Vyrm with 43? I think it'd be extremely interesting considering his complex past

43. What does your character see as the greatest injustice?

Hmm. I think, considering his childhood and his later regrets, he's particularly sensitive to the weak being ignored or mistreated. His childhood definitely wired him that way, he was far behind his siblings, and all he was given was food scraps just so he wouldn't starve to death. Aside from that, he experienced no affection, his mother clearly didn't like him very much and saw him as an annoyance, and his siblings were no better. So as he grew up and avoided the rest of his kind, he promised himself he would be different. It was a big reason why he decided to focus on the small bugs, he saw them as weak and wanted to protect them.

This is also another big reason why the vessel plan hit him as hard as it did. He didn't want to do it, and as he watched the vessels struggle, it broke his heart that if he were to do anything about it, it would ruin the whole thing. So he tried to convince himself that the vessels did not feel pain or fear, it was easier for him to cope that way, though of course he still feared that wasn't the case the entire time. Then the infection returned, all those fears came true, and we know what happened next. He failed the vessels, he failed the bugs in his kingdom that he wanted to protect, and it was all too much for his mind.

After the hibernation and the reunion with Grimm, Hornet and Holly, it took him a long time to, putting it simply, get his shit together. But immediately he became very attentive to Holly's needs, still seeing them onr of those weak vessels that needed him, that he left behind. It was clear the guilt was eating him from the inside, though even in their post-infection state, Holly was far from weak compared to him.

Similarly, when Lewk was first born, Vyrm wouldn't leave him for a moment, sometimes at the cost of his own well-being. He didn't want anything to happen to his baby, and on top of that, his vessel related guilt was only fueling it. But he was slowly getting better, his mental state was improving, and having the support of Grimm made him realize that he doesn't have to be as obsessive with it as he was before. That's not to say he stopped paying attention to Lewk, it was just easier to convince him that it's okay to take a break, and that others are there to help him.

Even then, protecting the weak never stopped being a big deal for him, far from it, and the arrival of the twin pups made it very clear. Asta was strong, even right after hatching from her egg. But Milo? He struggled from the very moment his egg was brought to the world, he took days longer to hatch, and when he eventually did, he was like a mirror image to Vyrm in his childhood, small, pale and skinny, always lagging behind his twin sister. He needed attention to survive, and for Vyrm ensuring that Milo would have a good childhood became even more personal. It wasn't just his guilt driving him, no. He saw himself in Milo, and to him it became a mission to correct the injustice from his own early days. He would give Milo the love and attention he desperately needed himself, he would be better than his own mother.

There are likely other things he feels are an injustice, but I think this aspect matters the most to him. And as it happens, it's something coded into his brain from the very first day he was born. Fitting that it would become his motivation in so many moments of his life.

[analogwriting]

The Other Side of Paradise

Chapter 15: Walla Walla

Killer x gn!reader word count: 2.1k tags: @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth, @h0n3y-l3m0n05 first|next

The party lasted until the wee hours of the morning - as all your parties usually did. Everyone was drinking, both alcoholic and nonalcoholic, and partying hard. The night was filled with endless laughing and catching up. It'd been quite a while since you were able to meet like this - all at once. It was a good feeling.

You felt at peace for the first time in a long time. 

When you woke up, it was well into the afternoon and you were still the first one awake. You went to move, only to find Dive sprawled across your lap. Sometimes you wonder if she was a cat in a past life. Specifically your cat, too.

She was a pretty heavy sleeper so moving out from under her wasn't too hard. You maneuvered around all your friends passed out every which way in every spot. You loved seeing it. Everyone looked so peaceful. It reminded you of your early days of college.

You made your way into the kitchen and started cooking up breakfast. You made sure to get plenty of everything to cover all the bases. You knew all your friends' allergies and preferences despite the large number of you. You made sure to accommodate everyone. Just as Killer used to. 

For a moment you paused, your mind floating away as you thought about the way things used to be. Your old routine - your old life. You missed the old times. Waking up next to Killer, roughhousing with Kid, gossiping with Wire, getting into trouble with Heat - you missed it all. They were the ones who were also there every step of your mother’s illness and through death. They were there your entire life basically. They had been all you knew.

And they threw it all away for fame.

SMACK!

You were suddenly ripped from your thoughts as something hit the back on your head…and hard. You yelped, rubbing the back of your head and looking next to you. To no surprise, it was Hop. She had her hand on her hip as she stared at you. “You know why,” she said before you could even say anything.

You frowned deeply and turned back to your task at hand, knowing she was right. You knew exactly why but you didn’t know how the hell she always knew when they were on your mind. Or how she always materialized at the right time.Though, you supposed that you always were teleported elsewhere, so it was probably easy. 

“We had a good time last night, don’t let them ruin it.” She moved around the kitchen, grabbing some stuff to help with breakfast.

“I know, I know,” you mumbled as you flipped eggs. Luckily, she had caught you just in time. Any longer and they would’ve been burned.

“We’re about to change our own lives. We’re going to make it big - bigger than them, even,” she said with a small snort. You smiled and nodded, a fond look on your face. She was right. You guys achieved a large goal that you thought was a pipedream. DQE was such a large label and they were so picky with their choices, that you thought they’d never come for you. You thought your concept might’ve been too experimental and abstract for a while there.

It was a miracle.

You took a deep breath and nodded. The next phase of your plan was to begin. What was that? You…weren’t sure. Honestly, you never thought you’d make it this far. You needed to expose them somehow. Or humiliate them. You just…didn’t know how to do any of that. You needed to see how everything was going over there before you really made a decision. You just wanted to be able to tear them down somehow.

As you made breakfast and the smell wafted through your empty house to the slumbering people, everyone started waking up. They were all starving and craving something greasy and disgusting. Something heavy and hangover curing - something you were an expert in. Years of partying made it easy to know all the do’s and don’ts of curing hangovers.

After everyone had their fill, it was time to clean. You were lucky to have good friends as they all helped clean before they slowly started leaving. Hop left with a group of them to take them back to the airport. They were only in town for the party, after all. 

Once everyone was out of the house and it was just you four again, it was evening by this time. You did some last minute super cleaning. Making sure that everything was thoroughly cleaned out. 

“Everything finished?” You looked up as Dive and Bubblegum came down the stairs from their runthrough of the upstairs. 

Dive nodded as she bounded over. “All clean.”

You nodded, pulling out four shot glasses. “Well, it’s officially our last night here.” You looked at them as they all took their glasses. There was a solemn look on all your faces. You were officially leaving. Moving on. You had no idea what was in store for you.

You’d been in this town your entire life. You were about to leave everything you knew behind and start the next leg of your journey with your friends. Everything was so vastly different within the last couple of years, but it was turning out alright. You weren’t as angry in your heart anymore, but you had to stick this through to the end. No matter what that ended up being.

“Here’s to the next leg of our journey.” You didn’t have a lot to say. You weren’t good at that and the four of you weren’t too cheesy like that anyway. 

You all clinked your shots before taking them. Then the four of you headed off to bed, having a long road ahead of you in the morning.

--

The trip there was long. However, this time you took your time. You gave yourselves plenty of time to get there, so there wasn’t any rush. There were some places you stopped to see, different foods to try. You took your time enjoying everything because you weren’t sure when you’d be able to again. You weren’t sure how much free time you were going to have once you got there, how much they might end up working you.

Since you already had a solid fanbase and your name was out there, you weren't exactly working from the ground up so some of those things might come a little easier. You wouldn’t have to push yourselves so hard - you lucked out with that. You knew these companies were notorious for overworking their staff if they started from the beginning.

When you arrive at the building, you feel the anxiety creeping into every part of your being. What if you were found out? What if you ran into them? What would you say? What would you do? Would you be able to hold back? It was just like it was a couple of years ago. It was as if no time passed, you were just as nervous.

“Hey.” You looked over at Hop and she shook her head. “They’re on tour right now anyway.” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. She was right. You needed to keep an even head so that you could catch anything off about things. You were the one who was familiar with legalities and business practices. This is what you went to college for, after all. Time to put that degree to some use. And they weren’t here - they were on tour. You didn’t have to worry about running into them just yet. 

The four of you threw on your gear and headed into the building. Now that your identity was in disguise, you felt better - more confident. You wondered if that one receptionist was still working here and if she was still rude. Or maybe it would be a different story considering you weren’t here to see someone but were going to work here.

Before entering the building, Dive stopped everyone. “We need a picture.” She ran the band’s social media and was planning on announcing the signing later today, so pictures were a good thing to do. And just the memories to look back on would also be nice.

After taking a group photo in front of the sign with their logo on it, you walked into the building, feeling your heart in your throat. It all looked relatively the same, but at the same time, you don’t really remember what it looked like last time. You were in such a bad mental state and so frazzled that you didn’t really take in your surroundings. Everything seemed the same but you also didn’t have anything to base it off of.

The woman behind the counter was the same, however - that much you remember. She looked up at the four of you, blinking several times as she took you in. She spoke slowly, unsure of what was going on. “Can I…help you?”

You spoke up, saying your group name and that you were here to see Corazon. Her face lit up and she nodded. “Oh! He did tell me about you! Give me just a moment here.” She fumbled around her desk for a moment before pulling out a notebook and fanning through it. “Ah, here.”

She smiled up at you. “Follow me, please.” She stood up, heading around the desk and down the hallway. She was much nicer than the last time you were here. Probably because you didn’t look like some crazy, deranged fans this time. You were here for business. You were going to bring in money - hopefully. 

The four of you followed in silence as the woman guided you through the building. She was chattering away, explaining the history of the building, where things were, yadda, yadda, yadda. You were memorizing the layout, though this place was much bigger than you were seeing. You would have to go exploring sometime. You just liked to be familiar with places you were going to frequent.

“Well, you guys sure are a talkative bunch,” the woman before you said with a small huff. None of you had said anything the entire time. Which was on brand for your image, but could come off as rude to some

“We’re just…listening. You’re very knowledgeable.” You nod towards her and she seems to accept that answer - smiling and wiggling her shoulders in delight. “Thank you. I do know a lot about this place. Been with the Donquixotes a long time.”

She went back to yapping now that you’ve validated her. You already knew everything she was talking about since you had done extensive research, but you let her continue on. It was just easier that way.

She stopped in front of an open door, revealing an empty conference room. She held up her hand, showcasing it. “This is where you’ll wait for Cora. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call. The phone on the table there has a direct line to my desk. My name is Baby 5, by the way.” 

You thanked her, noting her odd name, and headed into the room. She closed the door after the four of you were completely inside, leaving you alone.

You look around for a moment before heading over to the large window in the room, looking down. The building was quite tall and overlooked the entire city. “Wow,” you mumbled, starting to feel some vertigo. You stepped back, holding your head. “We’re fuckin’ high.”

You’ve never been in such a large, fancy building like this. You stuck to small motels because they were cheap and you didn’t mind them. You were never there long anyway.

Dive immediately glued herself to the window, bouncing in excitement. “Oh, wow! That’s so cool!” She whipped out her phone, taking a selfie with the townscape in the background, probably also to be added to the post later. Whenever she posted several photos at once, there were always a couple with her taking some weird selfies. The fans loved it.

Bubblegum didn’t even bother going over there, he had a weird things with heights. Didn’t fuck with it. Hop was right next to Dive, enjoying the view and taking photos with her.

next

[letorip]

favourite shows/movies? i need recommendations ASAP!!!

oh i definitely got you.

favourite shows:

Dark: crazy mindfuck of a show but also so insanely good. one of my faves ever, if not my favourite

Killing Eve: similarly incredible of a show. the ending was done horribly but it’s so good for the first three seasons that it’s well worth your time

Doctor Who: the quality here is questionable but i’ve watched since i was a child so i’d be lying if i said it wasn’t one of my favourites

Fleabag: was introduced to this by one of my friends who said it was brilliant and she was correct

Archer: this is more of a niche pick but i love this show and have for years. i am but a man

Chewing Gum: great show, laughed out loud and michaela coel is a gem. it’s very funny but also so hard to watch sometimes

The Good Place: loved this show from start to finish. had a whole bunch of fun and very impactful on my view of life

The Wire: need i explain how great this show is

i have so many more shows that i love but i didn’t want to yap for too long.

favourite movies:

Aftersun: killed me over and over again, it was so bloody sad but beautiful at the same time

Arrival: similarly killed me and changed my life. i was left going 😧 at the end and it quite genuinely made me reevaluate my entire life.

Ocean’s Eleven: really great movie in general. it’s more fun than the previous ones i mentioned, and i loved the detail. i just love heist movies in general

The Royal Tenenbaums: i like wes anderson in general so this was right up my alley. beautiful aesthetics and lives in my mind rent free

Chungking Express: was just really cool to see. wong kar wai is so talented and it definitely hit me where the heart is in a strange way

Megamind: ���‍♂️

It’s What’s Inside: a recent pick. not my favourite yet i don’t think i’ve had long enough to sit with it but it’s on netflix and i was recommended it by a friend so i pirated it and it was fantastic

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

i've got brain rot for lovelock. wrote a lil thing that's been rattling around in my head

hee hee hoo hoo @get-rammed

Lovelock sighs, trekking down the long ass hallway. One of the Map Bots is literally holding people hostage, even if they already have maps, so it’s Lovelock’s job to go fix it. He finds the thing wandering around the prize counter, jumping into action when it sees him. It wheels over faster than Lovelock would like, grabs him by the arm (definitely way too tight), and shoves its face in his.

“Hi! Please take this map. Take a map.”

“Mm-hmm. Ok, buddy,” Lovelock says, wholly disinterested.

He pulls out his faz-wrench, promptly powering the thing down. He grabs it by the collar of its shirt, using its wheels to easily move it into one of the many dark corners of the arcade. Sure, he’s supposed to go into the maintenance corridor, but the place creeps him out, and it’s way too crowded to work in peace. He parks the Map Bot, locking its wheels, and flips open the tiny step stool he carries with him. It’s a pain to do all of his work standing, and the thing is barely even a pound, so it remains one of the best purchases of his adult life.

Taking a seat, Lovelock takes out his bun and ties up the rest of his hair to keep it out of his face. He leans in, inspecting the wire connections on the bot’s back (he’s always thought it was weird and a little stupid that Map Bots have free-hanging wires). The area isn’t too bad; no major damage that might’ve come from a kid pulling at the wires, but it’s not perfect by any means. It’s probably not the source of the malfunction. He’s guessing something is the eyes are off and not letting the bots see maps, but it’ll save Lovelock a run in the future, so he might as well do that first.

Lovelock slowly sinks into his work, letting himself run on autopilot. He’s fixed up these things so many times it’s basically second nature. Humming to himself, he opens maintenance panels and fixes small sections of exposed wire.

“What are you doing?”

The little voice scares Lovelock, making him jump. He looks over and sees a little girl, decked out in Fazbear merch, with blond, curly hair. She’s got a face full of freckles, just like him, with a missing front tooth. She has a big smile on her face, eagerly awaiting Lovelock’s response.

“Oh, um,” he starts, glancing back at the bot, trying to find the best way to explain robotic maintenance to a child. He’s helped plenty of kids in the past– lost kids, hurt kids, kids scared by the animatronics, but he’s never had one come up to him and ask him what he’s doing. “The, uh, S.T.A.F.F Bots work really hard all the time, so sometimes, they can get a little… sick. So, I’m fixing up a sick robot.”

The little girl gasps, bouncing on her feet. “So you’re, like, a robot doctor?”

A soft smile spreads across Lovelock’s face, pulling slightly at his cheeks. He doesn’t particularly like kids, but sometimes they say the cutest shit. “Yeah, ha, I’m a robot doctor.”

The girl chats at Lovelock while he works, which he actually doesn’t mind. The little girl thinks it’s very cool that he’s a robot doctor, so that must also mean he’s very cool. By the time she’s finished her little tangent, Lovelock has finished up with the back of the Map Bot. He looks over to the girl, smiling and gently shushing her.

“I gotta keep fixing the robot, but I have to take off the face plate, which might be a little scary.” He smiles. “If you’ll get freaked out, here’s your free pass to leave.”

“No way!” The girl pouts. “I’m big! I can handle scary!”

“Ok, then,” Lovelock chuckles.

He stands up, pushing his step stool back with his foot. He unlocks the wheels of the Map Bot, turning it around with practiced ease. He locks the wheels again just as easily, not even looking when he hits the tiny lever with his foot. He pockets his faz-wrench, reaching for the two tiny buttons on the underside of the Map Bot’s jaw. The lower half of the face plate pops off with a slight hiss. The girl jumps in the corner of Lovelock’s eye, so he takes his time lifting the faceplate, watching the girl subtly. He removes the faceplate, finally, and turns to the girl with it in his hand. He makes jazz hands toward the exposed face, which makes the girl laugh.

“Eww, that’s so gross!” She laughs.

“Just wait; I have to take out the eyes next. Wanna watch?”

“Ew! No!” The girl laughs and runs off, presumably back to her parents, stopping midway to turn around and wave at Lovelock. He waves back.

He goes back to his work, popping out an eye, and whaddya know he was right. It’s an easy fix with the faz-wrench, which he gets done in minutes (compared to the like, ten he spent with the girl), and he resets the bot for good measure. He wheels the bot back to the prize counter, turning it back on and seeing how it does. The bot takes a few seconds to activate properly, but as soon as it has, it wheels up to a guest, politely offers them a map, and happily wheels away when the guests take it. Nice.

Soon enough, it gets close to closing, and all of the handers are wrapping up in the locker room. One of Lovelock’s coworkers, Clara, bumps him on the shoulder, catching his attention.

“You’re in a good mood today,” she remarks.

“Oh! Uh,” Lovelock scratches his cheek. “A little girl called me a robot doctor today.”

“What? That’s so cute!” Clara claps her hands together.

“Right?” He smiles, throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Anyway, drive safe, Clara; see you tomorrow.”

“Drive safe!” His coworker calls.

Lovelock can’t get the little girl out of his head for the entire drive home. He thinks he’ll wear ‘robot doctor’ as a badge of honor for the rest of his life. He’d scribble it onto his nametag if he had the space. It’s the little things that keep this job bearable, so he’ll take every moment he can get.

[idolsgf]

✨9 Ship Songs✨

Rules: List nine songs for one of your ships

I was tagged by @transprincecaspian weeks ago for this, sorry I'm just now getting to it. I've been burnt out from work but I'm going through all my tags now.

I've done this one before for the main 3 but I'm just going to do Mo and Solas for this one :) Under cut as usual

Also since it's been so long I'm just going to keep it as an open tag.

Mori'na/Solas

How We Used to Love by Siv Jakobsen

I ran into a woman on the sidewalk 'Cause I was thinking too much about us Dreaming of you and all we've lost 'Cause now you're always so angry You're always so sad You're mad about everything and everyone and I I don't have the heart for that How we used to love I'm afraid for our future I'm afraid it won't last 'Cause you've got too many scars to hide And I haven't got enough to understand why Why are you always so sad

The Archer by Adam Melchor

This is how you turned me to the archer from the arched This is where you turned me to the marksman from the marked This is how I learnt how to take the arrows in my back And shoot them at the stars But how they all just circle back and meet me at the start And how they hit me hard enough to question who you are And how you got so close to me And how you got so far I need more time

Pisces Moon by Flower Face

And I'm always staring at my phone I’m always trying to get you alone The wires got crossed along the way Now I’m standing here with nothing to say Fell in love with the Pisces moon Now I’ll follow you wherever you go 'Til you leave me at the altar some day Well I think that I’d love you anyway Yeah, I know that I’d love you anyway

It's About Time by Barcelona

There have been too many times When I've drowned you with these perfect lines And you've heard me say that I can cure you This morning I woke up with this overwhelming fear of love And I'm not sure if I can resurrect you Now I'm walking up to you so slowly It's about time, it's about time to fly away but wait I swear it's different cause I'm lonely Fold your wings, you'll need them more one day

Abstract (Psychopomp) by Hozier

Sometimes it returns, like rain that you slept through That washed off the world, the streets looking brand new I will not be great, but I'm grateful to get through The feeling came late, I'm still glad I met you The memory hurts but does me no harm / Sometimes there's a thought like you choose what you're doing But it comes to naught when I look back through it I remember the view, streetlights in the dark blue The moment I knew I'd no choice but to love you / Darling, there's a part of me I'm afraid will always be Trapped within an abstract from a moment of my life The weeds up through the concrete The traffic picking up speed All my love and terror balanced there between those eyes

You Want Everything by Snowmine

You woke up beside yourself You're taking back the night and I know you're meaning well But maybe I'm addicted To the hurt that comes around and then forgotten by yourself I can't remember, much of anything Faces passing by, and the time when we arrived But maybe, it's okay Cause you make me feel alive, you make me realize that.. You could try to be your best, but don't you know that it's suicide To want, you want, you want everything And you were right, this is a mess, because we're always picking sides But I won't let you have regrets, no way, no way

Chiromancer by Copeland

Your voice is fading, I call your name Cause I'm still here and the only thing that's left for me is listening Its the only way I make it through the night Are we just fooling ourselves, living in the moment? Am I just dying inside living all alone here? In a storm of quiet voices you're the only one that I can never find Just say you're mine and the fog would lift cause the only thing that's missing now is everything It's the only way I make it through the night / In morning light, in the darkest night and in-between I'm forever yours I hear you call my name and every sound's the same, I hear you call my name If only I could call up through the void to reach you If only I could stretch across the depths to hold you If only for a moment I can make two parts a whole, if only for a moment I could rest beside your soul, I could rest beside your soul

The Apparition by Sleep Token

So let's make trouble in the dream world Hijack Heaven with another memory now I make the most of the turning tide It just split what's left of the burning silence Don't wait, 'cause this could be the last time You turn up in the reveries of my mind I wake up to a suicide frenzy Loaded dreams still leave me empty And I believe Somewhere in the past Something was between You and I, my dear And it remains With me to this day No matter what I do This wound will never heal Why are you never real? The shifting states you follow me through Unrevealed Just let me go or take me with you

Lemons by Nick Leng

Won’t you please explain it to me Why’d we leave that way? Won’t you tell me please I can’t help but miss you But you’re too far to feel that Do wishing wells run dry? But did ours have to? Does the moon look different here from where you are? You’re getting colder from me and I can’t hold you that way No I can’t I can’t help but miss you But you’re too far to feel that

[child-of-the-new-contagion]

Ecto-Containment System

.,.,.I wanted a place where I wasn't limiting myself by fear of certain potential readers. It's funny, cause they wouldn't probably read anyway, but the slight chance was inhibiting expression. My wife E is one of the feared potential readers, and I've given out links at times to people too close to me in real life, and that can cause headaches. I could of course just not post, but there's the thing about being potentially readable, even if it's a self-flattering fairy-tale, or even the thing about being theoretically readable far in the future by alien surveyors of the Sol information microcube archived before civilization got turned into a dead two-dimensional painting by hyper-dimensional travelers cleaning the Dark Forest of potential rivals like some roided-up sinophobic new american century project.

So I'm posting in a new way, just writing about things straight-forwardly, instead of coding and metaphors, although I'm trying to do this thing where I have my cake and eat it too, take trips on dxm yet have the happy marriage, be in a relationship but also be able to write, indulge in cryptic poetics and also just convey information, for the edification of myself, mostly, cause there's this sordid compulsion in the social media era, of exhibitionism, even if it's for no one.

So yeah, I'm being a goody good boy for the most part, and a good husband [pretty good at any rate], and faithful, but I also believe in drugs. Certain ones, a sophist's discernment, doctoring myself. I can never totally turn my back on the dextromethorphan sacrament, I'm the prodigal son, the lapsed catholic reclaiming my birthrite.

I think vaping is the new MSG. They don't want it to be OK. They don't want you to enjoy it. They. Them. You know.

It's hard to quit because the negative consequences are so few. Except the artificial expense. The Sin Tax, the mafia government's cut, whatever. Also, there's something creepy about turning myself into a glitchy machine whose functionality is dependent on the short nicotine timer. I don't like it when I'm impatiently pecking at the button with increasing, ever-more-futile efforts like a trauma victim in the hospital bed being weened off the morphine IV by the nurses.

And there's something troubling about the steep curve of diminishing returns, forcing me to take frequent tolerance breaks, like I fail to do anymore with caffeine. It's such a silly game. I'm wired up with what sometimes seems too many chemically dependent circuits, but then, it's all a chemical circuit in'it, some voice deep inside sooths me into believing. No, that's not all there is, there's magikscum of dissociative drugs, and there's the people I love, organic realness, and there's a society I don't know whether to be a martyr defending or shrug off, or just admit I don't know nothin about nothin, I'm just a confused old man in the woods.

There's the thing about never being very precocious, so middle age is gonna hit me late like most things, maybe I'm not even there yet, but oh boy, what a crash it'll be. If I can survive beyond 47, the most depressing age according to data, then maybe I'll get to the real don't give a fuck golden years and enjoy that, if there's anything left in the world to enjoy.

I can take tolerance breaks though, I can go on nic gum, boring responsible gum, and I can even get off that too and get nic free, and I can even get off zoloft, until I start feeling sadness too scary to bear, and run back to it. I can get off these things for a little while. I can get off booze almost all the time, and that is one of the really evil ones, so that's good. I can keep my fentanyl in a bank vault, open it telepathically with the auto-destruct command when needed, if last-ditch geo-engineering fails to fix the planet, and instead turns everything to ice, with the remnants of humanity left to fight it out on a never-stopping train circumnavigating the frigid world and serving as an emblem of wealth inequality.

One part of the movie Children of Men that I think of more and more, that I never gave its due, is the premise of the government-issued suicide pills that are advertised on TV, with the cheery slogan: "You choose when." And real life is rhyming with that close to home with all the hoopla about the Medical Assistance in Dying program in Canada, the assisted-suicide fast-track. I have complicated feelings about that.

I wonder if I can captive-audience someone through the thin gruel of emotional blackmail into reading my selfish words through laundering in what is professedly a letter to a friend, but is really just a blog entry, another wordwank. It might almost work, it's hard to quit something that almost works because it's so close, it might as well be working, burning the credits of long expired favours, like bunk acid.

Mostly I can keep vaping and being on SSRIs and trazodone the tranq because maybe I just breezed through the midlife crisis without even noticing, or maybe it's still waiting for me, but regardless, I can enjoy the benefit, having lived this long, of not feeling the dumb compulsion to be pure somehow, that's an idealism I can happily leave behind.

I'll also post the only music I can manage over the long lame lately, which is facile and clumsy improvisations. But there was something worth a novel or a series in the title: The Art of the Possible. Which is what they say politics is, but I'm trying to stay away from politics on this blog. But there's rich thematic resonance from the epigram that extends to many things. What I meant when I came up with it while playing stemmed from the obsessive thought, what can I possibly come up with, in tense real-time, with these hands of mine that are lagging so far behind my rushing thoughts? The limitations of technique and imagination. What sort of compromise do I have to make with reality, to serve others, like the mockingly theoretical readership, listenership, or public?

[glorified-red]

Oh you’re an English major? Can you tell me more about what’s it like? I’m currently a senior and I think I might change my major to English before starting in the fall. What’s your main career goal? 

Oh ho ho, you just opened a huge can of worms my friend.

(To the tune of Percy Jackson the Musical): Look, I didn't wanna be an english major. For the past 7 years I wanted to be a film major but yk, crises always hit the week before you start your first semester of your Bachelors degree I suppose.

So as of late late late december, after I had already went to orientation as a film major and even PICKED ALL MY FILM CLASSES.

Huff.

I became an english major.

My current line up is:

Writing/Rhetoric Major

English Linguistics Minor

Editing and Publishing Certificate

I want to be an editor. I fell in love with editing ever since I was in that old Discord group and started editing fics for the first time and I realized I was damn good at it too. But alas, my college doesn't offer an editing major or even an editing minor so I had to pick two random semi-on track english choices for those.

And I thought it was fitting to major in literature based writing and minor in the scientific side of English so that when I get to editing stories, I can use literature knowledge, science knowledge, AND basic editing training. Like a 3 for 1 special all wrapped up in a Red Bow.

As of right now I'm a junior in college (at 19 whoo), first semester of my bachelors, and all my classes are in the linguistics category (because SOMEONE decided to change majors a week before classes started and thought, yea, there will be classes for my major left. Fucking idiot)

The science side of English is fascinating to me, I'm learning phoentics and how to transcribe sounds. Im learning about how language affects culture, identity, and even thought.

Like, did you know that the way English was designed predestined us to view the past, present, and future as completely seperate ideas and entities? Simply because of its grammar?

Thats why we (Americans) struggle with the concept of the past repeating itself or the "past" being super long ago even tho it actually only happened a few decades ago (cough slavery cough). Because we think the past is seperate from the present.

It also makes us shitty at helping the future (global warming? nah, thats not gonna affect us anytime soon. Saving money? Nah, we'll figure it out.)

I'm learning stuff like that, how english affects so many parts of your life simply because its your native tongue.

Im also proofreading/editing and coding a huge project funded by a national department and I have no clue how I got into that. Could not tell you. But it looks BANGER on my resume so.

Since I'm on the science sides of things right now it's hard to say what an english major life looks like because theres three categories of English: literature (writing), linguistic (history/science/purpose), and process (editing/publishing).

I will say, for all of them (linguistic, less-so), expect essays to be a thing. It seems like a given but man, I was not expecting to have to write an essay 3 weeks into the semester. Granted I enjoy writing essays and I'm good at them so it doesnt bug me, but still.

Also, people have egos sometimes. They will ask you who your favorite author is an expect you to have read allllll the classics and famous books, heaven forbid if you dont.

Have a read a single Jane Austen book? Fuck no. Do I have a favorite author thats not a childrens author? Absolutely not. Could I read a shakespearian play without falling asleep? Pfft nope.

But that's not what makes you an english major so don't let anyone bully you like that, they're always just overcompensating for something.

What makes you an english major?

Wired glasses, tucked in shirts, turtle necks, and a messenger bag.

[poopylumpkins]

I finally watched this movie, it hit me so hard.

I’d been listening to the soundtrack for a while, as a bad habit, I tend to listen to movie soundtracks before watching the source material—and I’m really into Yeule’s music—so I discovered the movie thru the release of their featured song in the movie.

I finally gave it a chance and, wow.

Huge tangent under the cut <3

I’m nonbinary. I’m afab. This movie resonated with me so much.

Making this discovery was a hard one, it was like I’d opened Pandora’s Box.

One of my other (dearest) friends had come out as nb when we were younger and it scared me, it was something I was aware of but pushed away in fear of discovery. Same with my lesbian identity. But the TV kept glowing, I wouldn’t lose them over my own cowardice. Eventually I realized I was lesbian, I’d realized I was trans.

Sometimes I feel connected to womanhood, to my femininity.

For the sake of others, I sacrifice my otherness for their comfort. I go by all pronouns because I’m afraid of dropping “she” from everyone else’s mind. I go by they/she in public spaces where I feel safe enough to do so, but at home, I’m still just a woman, I’m still “her”. Only that.

And it’s difficult reconciling this when I do dress femininely, when I let my friends call me woman. Even when I do that to myself, because I am, paradoxically, as I am not. I don’t know, gender is hard. I present as a woman to a lot of people, so I have experiences socialized as such.

Not to tote any weird superiority complexes, but I like the way God is described in the bible. “I am that I am.” The image of everyone, man, woman, otherwise, all simultaneously.

I feel maybe it’s like that for me, with womanhood. I am woman, I am something else. I like masculine terms for myself sometimes. Sometimes it feels like an empty space. Like [Owen] described it on the bleachers to [Maddy]. I severely hate overly gendered conversation. As a transmasc person, I do like dude and bro but yk even that gets tiresome.

“Yes, Girl.”

“Queen.”

“Miss.”

Only my closest friends call me by “they/them” pronouns, even then, I let it slip when they don’t get it right. But they know me for who I am beyond the screen, and I do just go by any pronouns. But we’re also just used to pushing that away in the eyes of others who don’t see the screen glowing.

In I Saw The TV Glow, Owen and Isabel are parallels to each other (because they are one and the same), they’re both too cowardly for confrontation, Isabel realizes she’s dying [as Owen] and apologizes for the sake of others’ comfort, at the end of the movie, at the outburst her realization causes.

The ending is left up to interpretation, whether she buries herself in the ground with Tara, or she continues to die, living a life as someone fake.

I like to remain hopeful, optimistic. Though, “there is still time,” might read as a warning—you still have time, but it will run out eventually—I see it as a message of hope for those of us who can’t explore our gender identities as freely as others. An eventuality.

During the wire breakage scene, where [Owen] finds herself stopped in the road—where she finds the burning papers of the episode guides, she reads “S06:e01” I like to think that that is where the movie ends and her true life begins. She does break out of the midnight realm.

She doesn’t continue to cower away, though she is wont to do. She opened her chest up and saw her missing heart, saw the “Pink Opaque,” and ran back to Tara, leaving this world behind, and saving face with her apologies.

..

This movie also filled me with existential dread.

When [Owen] watched the finale’s tape, when she launched her head into the tv and mourned the fact that her father wasn’t really her father—a foreboding, looming figure representing prominent patriarchal ideals—when she told us about how it was “time to become a real man,” when her father died, further burying herself into this life that wasn’t hers with a family that wasn’t either—it was terrifying.

We never see that family she had onscreen, and the mention of them makes [Owen] look so defeated. She watches the “Pink Opaque” again and it isn’t as she remembers. Just as Mr. Melancholy said would happen.

“Soon you won’t even remember that you’re dying.”

Whole movie was such a harrowing, representative experience. I sobbed. I mourned. It was like mourning for a past me, for the parts of myself that must stay hidden, for covering the screen.

And the fact that Tara was relatively butch in her real life, but was an awkward girl experimenting with her feminine expression up until she realized she had to escape in the Midnight Realm. I felt connection to her expression as much as I did Isabel’s egg crack.

They were so lesbians for each other, too, be it in a qpp sense or in another way.

…

Here I am listening to the OST again, replaying Yeule’s cover of “Anthems for a 17-year-old Girl,” on my 20th birthday (oh yeah that’s today) and just.. feeling such a frenzy of emotions.

Ultimately, just—

There will still be time. You’ll bury the you that isn’t authentic in the ground and rise as your truest form eventually. There will always be eventually. There will always be you..

I will be there waiting for me.

But I know that's not true. That's just fantasy. Kid's stuff.

I SAW THE TV GLOW (2024) dir. Jane Schoenbrun

[albireocountdown]

it's anyone's guess; when we're going to get called for whatever comes next | fox | body react

{ ♪♪♪ }

Grief is not a mental battle. It lashes throughout one’s body, acidic in your veins, the barbed-wire fingers of it unfurling throughout your organs and breaking out from your skin in real, but invisible, wounds. You can feel the cut and sting of it when your limbs shift, and even when you’re still, the ache hovers, suspended in your chest and stomach. There isn’t an escape from it. You simply have to wait for it to get smaller.

The only known treatment for grief is time. There is no cure. None will ever be discovered.

Grief is not, as one might assume, a condition. It is a virus, and worth studying is how it infects you. Is it swallowed, as one would a poison? Does it enter the bloodstream in a deep thrust of a sword, a sudden, sharp pain? Is it all around us, settling heavily in the air? Does it seep in through your pores? Is it contagious? What is the goal of it? To reproduce, to spread? To puppet around, like the ophiocordyceps unilaterus? Does it simply want to exist within you, to satisfy its own need for company?

Grief is a lonely thing. It stands to reason that grief, itself, is lonely. Fox had tried to stop it, had tried to keep Cross from losing himself the way Fox had. Fox had let the grief win, and look where it got him; sick in the head, irreparably damaged, having lost his life while managing to go on living.

‘Grief will hit you like a train and back up over your body. It’s like what Hippocrates once said; healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity.’ He remembers that day, his relentless attempts to reach out to Cross, his determination that his own grief had not been for nothing. It had taught him that suffering is impossible to watch apathetically. He may have thrown away his life, his future, his present day. But he had not lost sight of what made him a doctor. He would not let Cross descend into madness alone.

But healing is a matter of time, and opportunity. In a matter of days, Cross had neither. Fox had months, and it wasn’t enough.

His expression, gazing at his friend from the edge of the room, stopped right there at the entryway, is inscrutable to all except those who know him best. Fox Corier, heart on his sleeve, is all at once impossible to read. The clearer notes are there, like the dominant bits of cologne; devastation, sadness, exhaustion.

His eyes, though-

Something seems wrong about his eyes. The look in them. It’s incongruent with the rest of his expression, but so odd that it’s hard to really identify what it is. There’s too much distraction in the chaos that's fallen to think about it for too long. Grief balloons out in the wake of its onset, ripping through the body and the surrounding area with a vengeance.

“Your immune system releases…releases cytokines,” he finally mumbles to himself, not meaning to speak aloud. “Small proteins. Cytokines. They communicate with other cells to coordinate an…immune response. They increase sensitivity to pain.” He nods, shoulders shaking, his throat thick. “The physical pain of grief. Cytokines.”

There are more important things to worry about than Fox. As he put it to himself, silent once more, unmoving as the seconds tick on, not everything is about him.

Objective fact does little to reassure in the face of metaphorical agony.

[thin-violin]

ana diary

there’s this girl, maybe we’ll call her Liza. Liza has an eating disorder, and just needs everybody to fucking know. (she has her personality problems, i’d never be friends with her one way or another).

but whenever she’s with anyone, she just has to announce how she hasn’t eaten, and it makes me insane because i also have never eaten by that point in the day!!! but i don’t brag about it bc i’m not a shitty person who wants to deliberately bring down the vibe for a little attention??

like, it’s entirely one thing to seek out help, to confide in the people close to you. it’s totally something else to brag about your eating disorder just so people will stress themselves with trying to save you! you are 21, not 15. it’s too old to be so inconsiderately throwing around words that you know affect people.

and that’s what makes me So Mad when people do this (anyone, Liza, or anyone else) because when you have an eating disorder or you struggle with disordered eating, you Know how deeply and legitimately words alone can impact someone. one mention of someone’s eating disorder is enough to send someone spiraling. we all know this, it’s literally half the battle. the whole thing takes you over, anything can trigger you. i know this, liza knows this, we all know this!!

and there are a bunch of younger (smaller) students in my major who brag about their eating disorders too… they’re typically only 18-19, but definitely old enough to understand.

anyways, that’s why my eating disorder has actually come back so severely this time. is because ppl around me kept bragging.

i have a couple closer friends who’ve also dealt with eating disorders and honestly?? praying to god that they don’t notice because that’s not something i can deal with!!! (also, i’ve had conversations with both of them about being affected by people who brag about their eating disorders… i really hope they don’t think too closely about any of it)

i have another friend who, maybe i’m being paranoid, but i swear he knows. maybe it was just because we were both drunk/high/crossed (dunno which he was, but i know which one i was!) and he hits me with the

“i was just thinking about how important what we put in our bodies is. we really need to nourish ourselves, that stuff really impacts you.”

and i was like “hehe yeah 😶”

also… speaking of being high… i get so wired sometimes now after i smoke. not always because i have the tolerance of a god! but, especially when i was dealing with a lot of anxiety, just a little weed was sending me to shakeville! she was fr vibrating after half a bowl and then cried in front of my friend

anyway, things aren’t going the greatest, i’m struggling to keep this whole eating disorder thing under wraps. but at this point, i’m a fully grown adult, i like to think that everyone will just turn a blind eye bc it’s my life and it’s not their job to help me.

but i need someone to help me!! i need someone to help me recover! even though i can’t recover because i’ll immediately gain back everything i lost, and very realistically more as well!! so i just need people to notice because i’ve worked so hard at starving myself and i’m the only one who can appreciate my efforts. and i need everyone to not see a thing because i’m so so so sooo ashamed of it all

[mcbex]

Cognito Ergo Sum

Laying in my bed praying before tossing over and going to sleep, I realize I'm having the same old conversation with God. Sometimes I feel like a broken record or like I'm reciting a laundry list or worse yet I'm scripting the tangent of my heart strings crying out for relief. I pause and call out from the dark "Lord, I don't want to have this conversation with you again. I'm tired of it. " I swear he replied with, "Imagine how I feel Beck..." I know he's a comedian at times and now he's sharing a playful moment with me that is also nestled to my core.

Discernment is so tricky. I walk a wire trying to triage my life. Who's worth my time, how do I feel, what is right, what is wrong and what should I be indifferent too. Where do I make space for others or from others. Discernment, is something that God says if we draw near to him he will help us. I definitely feel his hand guiding me through. But my problem is how do I get off the hamster wheel to maintain my intensity. I feel like I should be doing more than just reciting prayer. However- the true prayer, I feel bound to and would never abandon. The overwhelming needs of others feels engrossing both through prayer and through the hard work.

I read the other day that humans are the only creatures God gifted with the ability to decide what we think about. Which I think is more than just cognition. I am aware of myself, but I am aware that I think as well. It's not a new idea but it is a powerful notion. Cogito, ergo sum- I think therefore I am- and in reverse, I am therefore I think. Sometimes I think being aware means extra focus on the road because it is so easy to be laden with all the other stressors that vie for our time. Other times I wonder why he gave us this gift if it only torments those of us that would do more had we been blessed time or circumstance.

Ultimately the boundless reproach of my prayers ends when I say it ends. God has the power to heal us and redeem us but only if we let it go. The Hamster Wheel prayer is nothing more than me holding onto my worry, my fear or my shame in order to feel some control more than what stress has over me. It makes me sense that I, a human, aware, awake and alive have control over my life. Realistically nothing is further than the truth. My free will allows me to make decision, not control the outcome.

When I was in high school I read a book called The Tao of Pooh. Although I'm not nor have I ever been deeply interested in Taoism I am on a constant search to find truth among the madness that we call life. I have questions and I will not rest until I turn over every stone to find answers that always seem aloof to others. This quote hit me then and stuck, like a honey to my finger tips. So I will share it as it seems fitting to my hamster wheel existence and awareness of a life that could be, should be lived better.

"To know the way, we go the way, we do the way. The way we do, the things we do, it's all there in front of you. But if you try too hard to see it, you'll only become confused. I am me and you are you. As you can see; but when you do the things that you can do, you will find the way. The way will follow you." -The Tao of Pooh

I will think in that for a while.

Psalm 8: 5-6 the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them? You have made them a little lower than the angels and crowned them with glory and honor. You made them rulers over the works of your hands; you put everything under their feet:

Genesis 1: 27- 28 So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them. God blessed them and said to them, “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground.”

2 Corinthians 6-7 Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord. For we live by faith, not by sight.

Psalm 91:11 For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;

[forestryfae]

so first of all i need rly need a bike. fucking nice. i have one but from what i remember its too tall plus its been in the garage for like 5 years. so thats a nice thing to waste money on

secondly i need more pants, some of the thinner ones are starting to get too small. again.

thirdly i was p much woken up with "you need to move rooms today" an hour before work like three or four months ago and i was told id be moving into a FINISHED room. it resulted in me complaining for 3 months that my room didnt have a heater, the lights in the entryway and room didnt work, and the light in the bathroom is screaming at me.

so instead of like. fixing any of this they just stole a lightbulb from the room i was in before i moved and put it in my new room. they also checked the lamp in the bathroom but "i cant hear anything" so they just didnt fix the screeching. i still havent gotten anew lightbulb in the hall and i finally got heater sometime during summer vacation

forth of all they also. keep fucking changing the rules. some of the people here will happily wait five minutes extra for people without them needing to ask and gladly comes knocking on tveir door, but some of them will tell you you need to let them know youll be 2 minutes late or theyll just leave without you. like what the fuck. i cant be a minute or two late so i can grab my fucking work clothes before i go to work??

why do some of these people get special treatment. why do they get extra care while i can be in my room crying for two days and noone notices. if im upset they usually dont talk to me unless im angry enough at them specifically to either scream or slam doors but any other person being sad warrants repeated attempts at a fucking intervention to fix everything. they dont come to my room if im not there for something they know id enjoy but theyll come get anyone else no problem. its person to person too so some of the workers very clearly have better communication and bonds with certain people and prioritize them and easily ask them to do stuff

i cant even talk to my fucking contacts or tell people when im so sad i dont know why im alive and im frequently forgotten about and ignored, and its not like i can say "i need people to actually show me im welcome and wanted because of how ive been treated in the past and how my brain is wired to anticipate social settings" xus thats not a real thing. im just being attentionseeking and whiny and ill just hear i "should be afraid to talk to people" and i "have to show initiative" and i shouldnt put the responsibility of whatever onto other people but like. its always been like that. im not welcome or expected unless im specifically invited, noone indirectly invites me then gets surprised that i didnt join or asks if im coming. most invitations are aimed at everyone too.

and im trying so hard too. i try so hard to fit in and act the way i think people would like, cus i know noone likes me when i try to just be myself, and somehow im still not likeable enougj. but if someones cranky or antisocial and generally harder to get to join or get out of their rooms thats fine, theyll try harder w that person. not with me though.

like. would be fucking nice if someone else could take the role of making sure im included because im wanted for once.instead of me having to do that myself and constantly worrying about it being a hit or miss. would be really fucking nice if someone could ask if im sad or upset in a genuine manner instead of fucking asking "how are you" or "what are you doing". noone asks how are you because they want to know how youre doing, they ask cus they want you to tell them youre okay so they dont have to talk to you. never in my life has either of thise questions meant anything other than say okay so i can congratulate myself for caring when i dont. its like saying hi. its not meant to be a real conversation.

like i really miss being able to say im not okay and being able to be angry. i literally cant do that anymore, im too numb to be angry, i dont know how to validate myself, none of my problems are big enough to be real, none of my feelings matter unless someone else says its ok to feel stuff, i cant say anything is wrong cus then im whiny and negative, i cant complain cus thats annoying and selfish, i cant have needs cus thats selfish, self centered, and egoistical and im not the only person in the world and im not the only one who matters, and i cant have stuff i want cus thats cringey. thats embarrassing.

i want a new house? i have one so why am i complaining, im only miserable cus im not trying hard enough to enjoy living there. i just need to go on walks daily and find something to do during the day. in an area where i dont know the forest with a budget of nothing if i wanna eat the last two weeks of the month without wasting my 1k nok in savings

i want family to come visit me? (not anymore but i used to) tough luck people have their own lives and are too busy to drive 30-45 minutes to spend a couple hours with me or help me with things they specifically told me theyd help me with like. once in a while. maybe even just once or twice a month. but if i call ahead i can take the train and come visit them for 6-8 hours minimum. i pay the ticket ofc. fuck them.

i want something new, like furniture im going to use or just a funky trinket i found or i want some new hobby materials for a hobby i wanna try? no i dont. you dont NEED that, you wont even use it, its a waste of money. no fun allowed.

i cant even talk about stuff i wanna DO or try or anything cus it doesnt matter. its not important so it doesnt matter. its not big enough. its all too small and its not interesting enough. nothing i say is worth listening to even if its the exact same shit everyone else talks about.

like. i just dont get it. theres clearly something very wrong here and i know my family is a huge reason for that but i just dont understand how everything works vs is supposed to work vs isnt supposed to work. i have no concept of normal and fucked up behaviour, i literally cant tell shit apart. i can tell when something upsets me, sometimes, but thats not a good enough reason to be angry or upset, and i cant base my social interactions on that. i cant tell if im uncomfortable or not either so thats fun. not that it matters.

like. idk. i just want a lightbulb so my room isnt so dark in the evening. i dont think its too much to ask. i dont think its an unfair accusation that i think itll take a week or two atleast before i get one and theyll forget i still need one for the entryway. they dont even have any extra lightbulbs so we dont have to go several days without a working ceiling light. they just never bought any.