#My thought processes actually still cause me great distress. not truly caring about the people I love is just NOT NOTMAL

[idanit]

possibly underappreciated Good Omens fics I enjoyed once upon a time

Indirectly inspired by a video series about fanfiction I watched, I decided to pull together a list of Good Omens fics I have bookmarked as stories I enjoyed, but which have less than 250-300 kudos at the time I’m writing this. No particular order. They’re accompanied by short excerpts from my private fic reading notes (not originally intended to be read by anyone but me, mind), sometimes slightly edited for clarity—and, sometimes, the comments I left on the fics.

This list sat in my drafts for a long time and the recent S2 announcement reminded me of it. I’d love it if it inspired you to do something similar! Spread the love.

And mind the tags, please.

△ = general and teen ▲ = mature and explicit 

thermodynamic equilibrium ▲ 7K the author has such an ear for dialogue and is unapologetic about what they want to write the characters like. They think of the characters as a mix of TV and book canon, but they feel like a homemade blend to me. (...) It’s very funny.

such dear follies ▲ 6K I can really picture this Aziraphale—Crowley as well, but her especially. She’s rather distinct. (...) Nice writing.

The Words Were With - △ 1.2K post-Blitz vignette, Aziraphale realizes what he feels and wonders if they're human enough for this. I liked it, and I liked the tag "transhumanism, but in reverse?", too—what an interesting idea. I'd say it's a vignette in a dire need of a follow-up, but, well, there's the show. The show is the follow-up. It fits very nicely within the canon and I totally believe it could have happened, like a deleted scene.

Gossip and Good Counsel △ 19K/? I love their companionship and how they're set up to be opposites by the management even though they get on pretty well. It feels very in keeping with the canon, but I feel like the fact that it's an F/F set in this particular time period adds a meaningful layer to the situation. It's women supporting each other in the world of men, working with the personas that are created for them, but, privately, being normal, well-rounded people. (...) and of course your writing is always a pleasure to read. (...) SDHDGDHDHDG Maisie is truly an Aziraphale.

Crowley Went Down to Georgia (he was looking for a soul to steal) △ 6K This was nice. Based on a song I didn’t know. Crowley goes to a funeral in the USA, one of a fiddler he knew and lost a bet to once. (...) The fic has not one but two songs composed for it and embedded inside it and that makes it even better. I really enjoyed the experience.

The Thing With Feathers △ 18K WARLOCK you'rE HORRIBLE AND I LOVE IT I would read an entire novel-length fic just of Crowley fighting his battles with Warlock. Written like this? It would be a blast. (...) The OCs are believably characterized and well-loved by the story. (...) Everyone seems to need a friend in this house. (...) This was so fun, and at the same time, their mission has weight here (...) We wonder about what the future holds even though we know it.

Here Quiet Find △ 11K This fic aimed for my head and the aim was sure precise. It was a story of Crowley sensing Aziraphale's distress and finding him in a self-quarantined English village in the seventeenth century, tired and anxious. It's hurt/comfort, so there was washing and bedsharing and I had to love it, so I did.

outside of time △ 2K Post-Almostgeddon, (...) nicely-written, short, but strung with a soft kind of tension and unspoken words. There's no drama, just "can we really", and "do you really" of sudden freedom. They fall into being inseparable. Book canon, which I like for this story (sitting on a tarmac). I liked the footnotes. There's a mention of Eliot. All in all, very much yes.

She'asani Yisrael △ 2K It’s Crowley going through a two-hour service and drinking blessed wine. He also keeps an eye on a boy he was asked to. It’s 1946. It was pretty good, so far the best Jewish GO fic, I think, from the ones I’ve read.

To Guard The Eastern Gate △ 11K  I loved it. You really made Sodom feel lived-in; the description of Keret, Hurriya and Yassib's house and relationship were great. I got attached to both them and the city (...) Aziraphale and Crawley’s interactions were generally very entertaining. I laughed (...) Your rendering of their voices just lands so well (...) But then oh, the entire ending (...) hurt, hurt a lot, and your descriptions are so vivid.

If you’ve been waiting (for falling in love) △ 14K AAAAA a good ending line. The whole paragraph, in fact. I love a good smattering of philosophy in my fics, and this was really nice. I can get behind Thomas Aequinus's and Crowley's view on eternity. It's (...) a pretty simple fic (...) - the courage to express yourself and take a risk is awarded with winning what was at stake by the virtue of reciprocity - but the way it was intertwined with a study of how they would experience a forever was done well. 

Holy unnecessary ▲ 2.2K It's well-written. (...) this is my type of sexual humour if I have any. So subtle. Blink and you'll miss it. Lovely.

The Parting Glass △ 17K Through the ages, they're dancing around their relationship until after the Armageddoff. (...) Wow, this was really, really nice. Very simple in its concept and nothing I haven't read before, but very well-executed. (...) AAAAH I LOVED the first chapter. I always like abbeys as settings, that's a given, but the banter, the good writing, the moral ambiguity!

Name The Sky △ 33K This Crowley is different, but very intriguing. Without his sarcastic talk, and much more animalistic. (...) I love how expressive Crowley is. (...) This fic has a very nice balance of drama and levity. I don't love Crowley-before-the-Fall stories very much, but with this execution I can read about it. (...) Okay I've read Crowley offering fruits, and even Aziraphale biting fruits, but the two of them sharing the apple? Outstanding. Ingenious. What a take.

A Flame in Your Heart △ 5K post-Blitz (why are so many dance fics post-Blitz?), they go to the bookshop and have an actually believable conversation. Then they dance the gavotte. It was really nice! Believable writing, emotions, the dancing! (...) Of course it's too early for them, (...) but the author's note? yeah.

Put down the apple, Adam, and come away with me ▲ 32K At this point it's just reading original stories with characters with names and some personality traits that I recognize. (...) I really enjoy this, the careful dance, the opposition between their views. (...) This is well-written, wow. (...) it's not an easy read (...) this story feels very believably 50s, but also reaches out to the present time. 

Liebestraum ▲ 10K/? It really is like music. I'm enjoying the writing a lot. (...) oh my actual god. This, this? Wow, uh. This came for my throat. (...) THE MUSICAL COMPOSITION, THE MOTIF RETURNING, THE AUTHOR KNOWS WHERE IT'S AT (...) Excellent. This hits the right beats so precisely, (...) and with feeling, too.

Down Comforter △ 2.4K and they lay down in angeldown, a soft rug ‘neath their heads– alright. Well, Crowley lies under Aziraphale's wing on a Persian rug after the Apocalypse, and they talk (...). It was sweet.

The Corsair of Carcosa △ 5K Crowley wakes up from a nap, visits Aziraphale for some drinking, and they read The King in Yellow that he happens to own. Good writing, so I'm bought. Aziraphale mentions Beardsley, so I'm bought twice over. My god, a discussion of etheral/occult madness? Caused by some wrong/true reading? Yes.

Very Good, Omens! △ 6K It's rather well-written, well-pastiched. People don't do that too often, nowadays - try to write in the style of a particular writer. (...) I love wordplay like this.

Reviving Robin Hood: The Complicated Process of Crème Brûlée △ 30K it's well-written (...), has a rhythm to it, and quiet humour. (...) Finally some nice, good, light writing. The attention to detail! (...) I'm still reading most of it aloud, the rhythm of it compels me to. (...) okay this does sound like Pratchett&Gaiman, the Good Omens itself (...) The fic is meandering, hilarious, sensitive in all the right places, and overall lovely.

my dear acquaintance △ 1K Oh. Oh. Yes, yes! Aziraphale in Russia, Russia I've never been in, but I can feel the snow and the evening of. Very real, and the bar, too. Attention to detail - vodka flavoured with dill, what on earth? Yes. He would totally have a distinct taste in operas and he would totally complain about a subpar one. I'm glad Tchaikovsky's there.

there is a crack in everything △ 1.8K This was good! Ah. Inspired by a comment (...), I went looking for Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese fics���really, what a big brain moment someone had and why have I never thought to look for them? This is Crowley getting suddenly anxious and Aziraphale going out of his way, through all his layers of not-thinking and denial, to console him. I also really liked how the Arrangement is a carefully unacknowledged partnership-marriage.

Scales And Gold And Wings And Scars △ 6K  No conflict, no plot, one tiny arc like a ripple on the surface of water on a calm sunny day - of Aziraphale discovering Crowley’s scars. It's the South Downs and it's early summer. They bask and swim in a spring. Non-sexual nudity, love in the air like a scent. Nice.

Nineteen Footnotes In Search Of A Story △ 0.4K This is a Good Omens story told only through footnotes. Your mind can fill in the gaps. Fascinating (...). Also, it’s an experiment so apt for this particular fandom.

Hell on Earth △ 6.5K Oh, I loved it! How could I not love it: it's Beelzebub-centric, it's historical, it has classical painting, and even a hilarious scene with a cuneiform phrase, as if I didn't enjoy this story enough already. There are so few Beelzebub fics out there and I find searching for them very difficult (I accept recs if anyone has any), and it's such a shame, so this was really like a gift to the fandom. I absolutely adore the way you portrayed them, small, frightening, powerful, and confident. Also, it was super fun to see how different Crowley seems when we're not in his POV or in a story about him and Aziraphale. (...)

Go Up to Ramoth-Gilead and Triumph △ 24K Daegaer is... pure class. (...) hdhdhdh what pfttt why you so funny (...) I love this Crowley. (...) This got unexpectedly intense. (...) I love the little nods to the fact that Israelites, especially the poorer ones, still believe in other gods. I also really like that they sleep on roofs. It's just the kind of detail that grounds the story and shows that the author is, in fact, a historian. 

[saviorinsilk]

Jealously

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this one but I hope you enjoy it!

Words: 2 203

Ship: Cordelia x female reader

The loud old clock chimed 1 AM, the sound seeping through the walls of the upstairs bedroom. I sat on the floor of one of the girl's bedrooms. Her name was Emily and she had arrived to Miss Robichaux's Academy a few weeks ago. I usually kept my distance from the other girls, preferring to stick close to Cordelia, Zoe, Queenie, Madison and Misty. Nan and I didn't get along very well but we put up with each other. She had a problem with me being with Cordelia and I wasn't thrilled to be around someone who had a problem with my personal choices but I was civil, for my lover's sake.

Some of the other girls had the same problem as Nan and they thought it was fun to make another person feel like a waste of space. They thought it wasn't appropriate for Cordelia and I to be together, given the age gap. I told them that it was none of their business if there was an age gap of 2 years, 20 years or 50 years. I thought sticking up for myself would have helped the situation but it just made it worse. I was miserable and Cordelia could tell and she hadn't been too happy about it. She tore into them in a morning meeting and I had to admit that it felt amazing to watch those bitches squirm in their seats, Her anger turned me on. I liked a strong woman and that night we had had the best sex I think we ever had, even to this day. They had left me alone after that, leaving me to finally be able to focus on studying my witchcraft. As I learnt to hone and expand my abilities, Cordelia grew adamant that I consider teaching alongside Zoe and Queenie. She had managed to somehow convince me in the weeks that followed and I'm not going to pretend that her sexual methods of persuasion hadn't been the reason I finally conceded. If it made her happy, it made me happy. When a new witch arrived at the coven house near the beginning of the month Cordelia had put me in charge of showing her around and helping her settle in. I was nervous at first but as the days went by I actually started to enjoy myself quite a bit. I had never realized how much I liked helping people. Maybe it was because I saw myself in her, scared and confused at the fact that this whole world actually existed, Or maybe it was because people had been taken care of me my whole life and it felt nice to finally give back. Whatever the reason, I threw myself face first into the new task. Maybe sleepless nights had followed, collecting all the books from the house library that I thought would be a good place for Emily to start learning. Cordelia was surprised but thrilled at my new passion but it had definitely affected our relationship. She wasn't the first thing on my mind anymore and I couldn't help but feel guilty for it. She had reassured me numerous times that we had our whole lives to spend time together and I needed to put my all into this if it was truly what I wanted. It also turned out that Emily and I had quite a lot in common and I felt myself enjoying her company over even Zoe, who was the person I was the closest to other than Cordelia. I found it very easy to talk to Emily as if we had been friends for years. I could tell her anything and she would just listen, not get so worked up and try to fix the issues, as Cordelia did. I felt myself spending more and more time with Emily over the few weeks she had been living at the house. I stretched my arms above my head, yawning as I stretched my stiff body. It hadn't been until the clock sounded that I realized how late it was. I had promised Cordelia we would spend some time together tonight but she was likely fast asleep now. I cursed under my breath, rubbing my strained eyes. Emily sat on the floor, leaning against her bed, her nose buried in the book about the history of witchcraft that I had given her to study. Her dark brown hair was pulled up in a high ponytail that had once been tight but now pieces had fallen out and her whole head was a frizzy mess. She was still in her black dress, long sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She was a cute girl but she was young, no older than me. She may have had the confidence of a lion but she was a far cry from the strong woman I desired. I let the book I had been reading fall closed, the sound of the hardcover slapping against the wooden floor breaking the silence that we sat in. I had been staring at it for so long that my vision was blurry as I looked around the mostly empty room. She was the cleanest person I had ever met and the open space of the room unnerved me. I readjusted my sore legs, becoming aware of the damp material that sat between my thighs. I hadn't picked up a word that I had read, as I had been daydreaming the whole time, not able to concentrate at all today. I was refreshing myself on The Salem trails for the class I was teaching in the morning with Queenie, but I hadn't learnt a thing about the gruesome slaughter that had taken place in 1693. My mind was elsewhere, deep in the dirtiest places of my mind, my face buried in the most intimate parts of Cordelia. It had been a while since we had been together in that way and I had been having wet dreams every night I went without her. Annoyance filled me, the unsatisfied feelings putting me in a dark mood. I glanced at Emily, who sat unmoving as she read, her face full of wonder at the words of magic she was processing. "I think I'm going to head to bed Emily, "I said, forcing myself to sound cheerful. I pushed myself off the floor, still holding on to a sliver of hope that Cordelia was still up so I could quench the desire that squeezed my core unforgivingly. Emily raised her head lazily, her face finally appearing from behind the large book. "Huh?" She asked, clearly too lost in what she was reading to have heard me. I closed my eyes briefly, breathing forcefully out my nose. It's not her fault you are aggressively horny, I reminded myself. "I'm going to bed," I repeated, painfully forcing a smile. I'm sure she could sense the annoyance radiating off me so I picked up my book and walked towards the door which was only a few steps away. "You should get some sleep to Emily. You have been working really hard this past week. You have to guard against burning yourself out." I said quietly as I turned around to face her once again. Also, that way you don't hear me fucking your supreme, I said in my head. I hated being controlled by my desires and I always got feisty when I did. Emily shrugged but flashed me a toothy smile, her face lighting up as she gazed up at me. "Thanks miss Y/L/N. You are such a great teacher and friend." She said, her voice way too perky for this hour of the night. A genuine smile spread across my tired face and I felt my cheeks flush a few shades darker than my usual light skin. Cordelia had told me the same thing many times but hearing it from someone that I was actually teaching was very different. Cordelia was my girlfriend and even though I knew she meant was she said, part of me couldn't help but wonder if she had been embellishing my abilities because she was in love with me. Emily, on the other hand, had no reason to say it if she didn't truly believe it. "Thank you, Emily. That means a lot to me. I having a bad habit of doubting myself and knowing that I'm not doing a completely terrible job definitely helps me feel more confident." I said my head over my heart. "And please, call me Y/N. Miss Y/L/N makes me feel like some kind of authority figure." I chuckled, making a disgusted face. Plus, your headmistress likes to call me that when her fingers are wrapped in my hair, I told her in my head. Thankfully Emily wasn't blessed with the ability to read minds, unlike Cordelia. I had learnt I couldn't keep anything from her very quickly. Emily laughed along with me and then brought her book back up to her face and bit her bottom lip. I raised an eyebrow at her, unable to gauge the look on her face. "As you wish Y/N. I never want you to feel uncomfortable. The other girls were right, you are very sweet." I barely had time to process the fact that she had just said that the other girls had actually said something positive about me before she spoke again. "But they didn't warn me about just how beautiful you are." It took a moment for my mind to begin to function again after I heard her words. What had she just said? I thought I was all right looking but no way was beautiful the word to describe me. Cordelia was beautiful, I was average, even if Cordelia told me otherwise. I knew that even if my cheeks hadn't been red before, they were a deep crimson now. I could feel the heat that gathered there and I wasn't quite sure what to say or do at that moment. "I-I ah..." Was all I managed, shifting my weight awkwardly. A different type of heat burnt in my core and I wanted nothing but to get the hell out of the barren room as quickly as I could. "Miss Cordelia is a very lucky woman. Too bad you like older women 'cause I wouldn't mind getting to know you better." Emily's words were distant in my ears as if they were coming through a vent. I was so stupid. Of course, she had feelings for me. What kind of friend wants to sit on the same side of the table as you, never breaks eye contact and goes red every time you compliment them? A friend who likes you more than you like them, that's who. I felt the distressing wrench of guilt fill me. I should have been with Cordelia tonight, not daydreaming about her while I sat in some girls room. I was disgusted in myself and felt as if hearing the words Emily had spoken made me deserving of a scarlet letter. When Emily winked at me before looking back at her book I thought I might puke. There was nothing wrong with her but the mere thought of being with someone other than Cordelia made my skin crawl. After a few uncomfortable moments of standing there probably looking like a deactivated robot, I turned and almost ran from the room. The door slammed behind me and I winced, hoping it hadn't been loud enough to wake any of the sleeping girls. My body slumped back against the wall and I closed my eyes, trying to collect myself. Cordelia had been right. A few nights early she had been quiet and when I asked her what was wrong and she had replied with something that shocked me. She confessed that she was jealous of the time I was spending with Emily. I told her that there was nothing to worry about, that Emily just needed some extra help. I had shot her down, almost annoyed at her for thinking I would keep spending time with the young witch if I thought there was even the slightest change that she felt anything towards me. Cordelia had been satisfied with my response and now, standing out in the hallway, my heart racing I wished I could take back those words. I breathed deeply in an out, repeating a relaxation mantra that Cordelia had taught me under my breath. The attempt was futile though. No spell was going to fix my state of mind right now, I had far surpassed the level of stress that something like that could help with. I needed one thing and one thing only. Only she could fix the storm that was brewing inside of me. I forced myself up and stumbled down the stairs on shaky legs. I felt as if the journey continued on forever but when I finally reached the door to the bedroom that Cordelia and I shared, I took one last deep breath and entered the room, this time making sure I closed the door quietly behind me, thankful to be back in the comfort of our room.

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[pkmnsdarkqueen]

Ice Log, Audio Journal-Pryce

Some of the audio log of Pryce’s experiments with the children and Ho-oh and Lugia to get an idea of what happened

TW: child abuse 

Day xxx Age of children-14

I’ve brought the two newest to the remote location where I am housing the legendaries. Since keeping them in pokeballs has proved difficult. The hex upon them seems to weaken in the devices thus I’m forced to have them housed. Both children have proven a great deal of loyalty. I find it time they meet the legendary pokemon I have housed, perhaps gain even more of their respect through this. 

Day xxx Age of children-14

I have come upon an.....interesting discovery, but I am not sure what to make of it. I find myself in a situation akin to a horror movie since bringing the children to this site. They have come to me five times today claiming to hear screaming from the barn, and question how no one hears it. They say it’s human like. The only alive thing there is the legendaries. It has been less than a day of being here, how could they know anything?

Day xxx Age of children-14

I’ve refused them access to the barn, and am trying to nail down the cause. The more I look into it the more maddening this is. Carl and Sham have failed to hear anything. Both Will and Karen have come independently of one another to tell me. It disrupts their training as they show deep signs of distress when hearing these supposed screams. I have also found it often correlates to when tests are done of the legendary pokemon, or I am renewing the hex over them to hold my bond to them. I will try wait a bit longer to document more.

Day xxx Age of children-14

I have found no other explanation. Something about these children and the legendaries is connected. I must introduce them.

Day xxx Age of children-14

I let the boy go first. With his psychic abilities if something were to go wrong then I suppose he would have a better chance at fighting off the legendary Lugia till I could regain control of the hex. At this that is what I figured. However I was shocked to find how little he struggled. With the tidal bell in hand, and silver wing the hex seemed to instinctively latch to him. There was only a minimal struggle from Lugia before the pokemon succumbed to his control. Naturally I was taken aback as it took an hour for the bond to attach with myself, but this child had no issues. We are now seeing how long he can hold it. 

Day xxx Age of children-14

It was roughly hour 8 that the child was finally loosing control, and had to reinstate the hex over the pokemon. Again he took to it naturally though seemed distressed while doing it claiming he heard the pokemon screaming again. All we heard was the usual pokemon cries, but he claimed to hear words. Naturally I told him I had held the hex longer and he’d grow in time when in actuality it took quite some time to get to his level. Now to see what the girl can manage, and if he has any luck with Ho-oh.

Day xxx Age of children-14

Note to self. Do not mix their pokemon. The girl shows the same aptitude with Ho-oh. Naturally she had the rainbow wing and clear bell with her also. When trying to introduce the hex to the opposing pokemon immediate chaos broke out. They seem to excel with one certain pokemon, and if trying to attach to the other the hex rejects them out right. Won’t be making that mistake again. 

Day xxx Age of children-16

Tests with the children and their respective pokemon continues. They’ve grown exceptionally over the years with control of their respective pokemon. Not only can they control them outside an enclosed environment, but have intense battles with relitive ease in control. Rocket remains none the wiser. 

Day xxx Age of children-17

I had hoped we’d find something by now. Some tangible explanation, but there’s nothing. We’ve preformed countless medical tests by now, x-rays, collected samples, the whole nine yards which I have kept careful documentation of. Hell we’ve even tried dental studies to see if there’s something, but nothing. No shred of explanation as to what is giving these children such careful control of legendaries. Their bond with the pokemon grows too. I worry they could revolt if I am not careful. 

Day xxx Age of children-17

I originally thought it possible the boy’s psychic abilities had to do with his link to Lugia though that never explained why the girl failed to show any results to having say pyrotechnic abilities. I’m beginning to think the psychic abilities he has are wholly separate from the connection to Lugia. Despite this gap the girl has seemed to keep up in fighting abilities, impressively so. However that also drew me to question if there was a separation between the legendary connection and their strengths. The true kicker was what the girl said to me an hour ago. I was in my study and she knocked on the door coming in with some tea saying I could use some. Granted I have been stressed with the recent failure of Carl and Sham’s last mission, but I had not left my office nor did she know about this as they had called me directly. I asked her how she knew I was stressed, and she seemed equally curious on how she reached that conclusion before shrugging and claiming she simply,’felt it from me, and Will told her I likely wanted tea.’ I hadn’t thought about it before, but both her and the boy seem to do that often. She always seems to know how people feel, and he always seems to know what people want. I had taught them that as good manipulation tactics, but....they understood it so quickly, as if they already knew each time. If Lugia is the guardian of souls, and Ho-oh of hearts...I wonder....could that be translated to desires, and feelings?

Day xxx Age of children-17

I am more convinced of my heart and soul theory having tested them more and more. I wonder....how alike are they to the legendaries, what powers can they access?

Day xxx Age of children-18

I have begun to research into the tower burning. Where the beasts were resurrected. Medically we have still found nothing, and the children grow more apprehensive of these lab visits while I grow tired of them. I truly think now I maybe onto something in researching these legends. Ho-oh is capable of rebirth, correct? The only thing stopping me from bringing back my pokemon’s parents is Ho-oh’s cooperation in reviving them. That’s how I view it at least. Now to find out how it happened once to make it happen again.

Day xxx Age of children-18

It seems I am not the first to have this idea, and I praise my luck I am not. The ruins of Alph speak about the power in Ho-oh’s resurrection bringing up the cycle of life. Apparently there are ties to pokemon in Kalos as well, but Ho-oh is the beginning of this process the rebirth of life. So with those pokemon far past the final step it is time for rebirth.

Day xxx Age of children-19

I have it ready finally. The ritual is set, and the girl understands her job. After tomorrow I’ll have peace again.

Day xxx Age of children-19

Perhaps I should of done more research into those Kalos pokemon. The ritual, as the listener to this, if anyone listens to this besides myself can safely assume it failed. I followed everything to the T, and I do think it went properly. At least somewhat. The girl entered a trance of sorts after seeming to fall unconscious. She was misty eyed, literally, and to be blunt I feared dead by how lifeless her body looked. However the carvings I made continued to glow, and Ho-oh continued to glow giving off an aura. Then cuts appeared on the girl, claw marks, gashes, simply various wounds. Everything seemed to cut out suddenly as she snapped to shaking and crying hardly noticing her injuries as she clutched herself. She spoke gibberish for a bit before calming enough to explain what happened. Apparently she entered some dark space with nothing around, but a door in the far distance, and Ho-oh desperately trying to pull away from it. The closer she got to it, and pushed the bird two voices told her to stop, that the living weren’t allowed there, it was too late the souls have moved on. Then they attacked. She doesn’t recall what attacked her exactly as they felt like shadows, but there was talons, hooves, a beak, and horns all taking blows at her till she couldn’t fight anymore. I noticed then Ho-oh was wounded too. For now healing. I will try again another time, she promises she can get to the door next time for me.

Day xxx Age of children-19

I have tried multiple times with the girl now. Each time she only comes back more injured, and shaken. I have continued research on the ritual since. I will integrate the boy with her this next time. Perhaps the two of them can finally reach some silly door.

Day xxx Age of children-19

Still nothing. Medical results yield again, nothing. There is something to this that is past our current understanding of science. The children grow no closer to this supposed door even together, and are continuously told by what I can only assume to be xerneas and yveltal that the souls of my pokemon’s parents are too far gone. They’ve already moved past. As infuriating as this is I have found a possible solution to my strife in my detailed research of legendary pokemon of this region. If I can not raise them from the dead which apparently requires some machine in Kalos, or give them the rebirth of new life as was done with the beasts then I will try something simpler, time travel. 

[starwarsfic]

Breathe In With Hunger

Originally posted September 13, 2020

Summary: Obi-Wan had spent his whole life keeping his species a secret, until the Clone Wars made that impossible.

Details: Sithspawn Stewjoni AU.

xxxxxx

Obi-Wan hadn't known what to expect from the clone medical staff--he'd seen how efficient the troopers were, he almost hoped that he'd be able to get in and out of medical without any fuss.

That, however, was not to be.

"General," the medic, who had finally introduced himself as Sleep, seemed baffled by something and Obi-Wan braced himself. "Your medical records require Council authorization."

"Ah."

His casual acknowledgement called more notice to them than he'd thought it would, the focused attention of so many similar people clawing at him in the Force.

It also didn't help Sleep's attitude and, from the bags under his eyes and the tell-tale sign of stim-caused tremors, Obi-Wan was beginning to understand the name was possibly an in-joke. "General, I can't treat you if I don't know even the basics about you. It's the entire file except your name and birth date! Even your gender is redacted!"

He shifted, glancing around them. Only clones.

Whatever that meant. As he still wasn't sure how he felt about Jango Fett creating a supposed army for the Republic.

Alpha-17 was there, shifting closer to them with his tell-tale scowl. Beyond him, a few other troopers lingered, ones that had been on the recent mission with them, back-up when no other Jedi, not even his Padawan, were available.

Thus, too, why Obi-Wan wasn't being seen by a Jedi healer who already knew about him.

They all felt safe. Alpha had certainly proven himself time and time again to Obi-Wan.

And if the war continued on as it was going, they would all find out sooner than later, regardless of how careful Obi-Wan was. Perhaps an early warning would garner him the troopers' help in hiding himself in plain sight.

"Do you know what a Stewjoni is?"

Sleep blinked at him, like a droid that had just rebooted, and then startled. "You...but...." His fingers flew across the datapad in his hand, most likely at whatever medical information he'd been able to collect from their own databases. "That would explain the copper levels," he finally allowed, seeming to fumble over his words.

Beside them, Alpha-17 let out a low string of curses in Mando'a, a few that even Obi-Wan didn't know. "That would have been good to know, General," he bit out the title, condescending. "Especially with how the Sith are always all over you."

"I apologize for the oversight, Alpha. It has never been necessary information for those who temporarily worked with me, before."

Obi-Wan needed the distraction from thinking about the Sith--the feel of them against his senses, the smooth Darkness that flowed out of them. His instincts were dulled by over three decades with the Jedi and still they were so, so hard to resist when he was injured and someone like Ventress was right there.

He still remembered the taste of the Sith on Naboo, his instincts tearing through him after watching the killing blow delivered to Qui-Gon, feeling their bond start to come undone. It had just been the slightest amount, enough that he'd come out of the encounter with not even a bruise, but it had made his food taste like ash for months after.

"What do I need to know, sir?" Sleep dragged his attention back from places he really shouldn't let it go.

With a sigh, he motioned for the datapad and reluctantly logged into his own medical profile, watching as two lines became a short lifetime of information. "This is full access, trooper. I expect you to be discreet."

Sleep nodded and, distracted as he was, barely said anything when Obi-Wan slipped from the room. It wasn't as though he had gone alone, Alpha-17 was at his back the whole walk to his own temporary bunk in Tipoca City.

"If you're looking for another apology, Alpha, I'm afraid one isn't coming."

That just earned him a snort, Alpha-17 closing the door behind him and standing in the private room like he was a common fixture and not a new oddity in Obi-Wan's life.

"Your blood was blue."

"Excuse me?"

"After Ohma D'un. I thought it was some trick of the weapon you'd been exposed to."

Obi-Wan licked his lips, glancing down at his wrists where carefully crafted tattoos gave the impression of near-human blood vessels under his light toned skin. "I have an implant," he said, finally, "that helps make my blood look red, or close enough. It had failed by the end." The added iron often made him feel sickly and he'd been almost glad that it wasn't working, with how much damage his body had taken.

"Do you need...accommodations?" When his answer was a raised eyebrow, Alpha-17 glowered and continued, "Like General Koon or General Fisto need. Environmental? Special rations?"

"Have I given any indication that I do?" Now it was Alpha-17's turn to give him a look. "It's not...you must understand, my people were manufactured. We're quite capable of living in very diverse environments and, when our preferred food is scarce, living off of nearly anything." He gave a wry grin. "Though, despite it all, I'll never be as fond of live insects as my Padawan is."

Alpha-17 grimaced, remembering a few particularly harsh campaigns where Anakin had become creative with additions to their GAR-issued rations. He remained silent for a few moments, clearly working through something serious, and Obi-Wan took the time to prepare some tea for them. The ritual of it, adopted from his own Master (who adopted it from Dooku, though Obi-Wan tried not to think of that), was comforting.

As much as he'd deny it, this was a nerve-wracking evening. The last time he'd revealed himself had been when he'd taken Anakin as his Padawan, needing the boy to understand the idiosyncrasies he might notice and the difference in emotions that would flow down their bond. Anakin had already been facing so many changes, and had such a unique perspective compared to the Core and Mid-Rim peoples that Obi-Wan normally encountered, that it had gone easily.

He wasn't sure how the clones would actually take the information, when they had time to process it. Obi-Wan was aware that how human he looked could often be unsettling to those who knew the truth. That his whole being could come across as a lie in itself.

"Are you holding back?" Alpha-17 asked into the silence, after Obi-Wan served him tea in a delicate cup, as if sensing his thought process.

"What do you mean?"

"During our fights. Are you holding back because you're...hiding."

Obi-Wan stroked his beard with one hand, the fingers of the other tapping against his cup. "I suppose, if you wanted to be fully accurate, I am. But it's not because I worried you would find out," he hurried to add, "it is because if I were to stop...it would be very difficult to come back from that."

"What does that mean? You would...go feral?"

He coughed out his sip of tea, trying not to laugh. "No, Force, what sort of odd fictions are you troopers reading?" Alpha-17 had the good grace to look embarrassed. "I could far more easily take on someone like Ventress or even Dooku himself if I used my...natural abilities. However, I do not know if I could stop myself from...feeding from their essences. Which in turn would kickstart a healing process in my body that could very well reverse all the very extensive, and expensive, surgeries I have had over the years and possibly get the Order in trouble for harboring such a dangerous creature as I."

"Right. Because...you don't really look like this."

"Is that a problem, trooper?"

Alpha-17 regarded him and Obi-Wan was confused by the weight of the hurt settling within him at the hesitation. "No, General. I can't say I'm not curious about what you'd really look like, but it's no problem from me." He scowled. "I'm not some longneck who is going to judge you for not being exactly what I was expecting."

***

Sleep died in an explosion four months later. Alpha-17 disappeared into Tipoca City to train ARC troopers after severe injuries towards the end of the first year of the war. The others who new were picked off here and there, the rate of survival for the troopers worryingly low.

Obi-Wan told the medics of the 212th, when he was finally assigned to them, but he did not tell anyone else. The longer he went without doing so, the less he felt like he could.

It was Ventress who told Cody, taking great delight in stroking the scars along Obi-Wan's exposed back as his vulnerable Commander struggled against his bonds. She had a thing for stripping clones that Obi-Wan didn't like, anymore than he liked how she kept chaining him up whenever she caught him.

"He's a pretty thing, isn't he?" she cooed at Cody, carding a hand through Obi-Wan's sweaty hair. "But...why? Isn't it odd, Commander, how he seems to be nearly everyone's type?" Her smirk was self-satisfied and Obi-Wan wanted to kick it off her face. "As if he were...made...to appeal to people, regardless of their species."

Cody just seemed confused, at least at first. What he might have said was lost behind the gag that Obi-Wan found himself more and more thankful for as Ventress continued, pointing out the marks of his surgeries. Where his spines down to their very base had been dug out, where his eyes had been capped over with lenses, where his ears had been cut down and reshaped.

When she stripped down his lower body and gave Cody a view, the anger and distress coming from the clone had sharpened into rage.

As soon as they were free, it was all Obi-Wan could do to keep Cody from beating Ventress to death with his bare hands. Which was...more flattering than he wanted to admit.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Commander," he said, as they settled into the command center of the ship they were now alone on and waited for their rescue.

Cody stared at him. "Sir, that's private information. As long as the medics knew, that's all that I would expect from you."

"Truly? You're not...unnerved?"

The answer was a shrug and what might have been the beginnings of a blush, Cody's shields once more impeccable enough that Obi-Wan couldn't actually tell his feelings in the Force. "I admit it...answered a few questions I had...but it's none of my business."

"Questions about my attractiveness?" he supplied, remembering Ventress using that as a starting point.

"You do, uh, seem to garner a lot of...cross-species interest, General."

Obi-Wan gave a gentle smile, an expression he'd practiced as a youth after noticing how the humans around him responded to it from others.

"My people weren't originally created by the Sith, like every other species of what are called 'Sithspawn' they took us and twisted us to their purposes. Sith Flesh Alchemy allows for otherwise incompatible species to breed, so that they can adopt attributes the Alchemists thought would be useful." His smile turned wry, an expression that felt more natural on his face these days. "I am attractive to so many species because I was genetically engineered to be so. The closest translation into Basic for 'Stewjoni' is 'Siren,' if you know any old Aldeeranian myths."

That got Cody's attention. "You had me read those. I thought it was just...entertainment."

"Ah, you've caught me, my dear. They're not accurate per se--as you can tell, my people no longer spend much time in the water--but they serve as warnings."

"You thought we needed a warning about you? Sir, we know you would never--"

He held up a hand, stopping whatever Cody was about to say. "When Sith are involved, Cody, when they've created you, in a way, you can never be fully trustworthy. There's always the chance that somehow, someway, they still have their grip on you."

His kind weren't prone to nightmares, but everyone he'd had since the war had started was the same--Dooku's shadowy Master finding a way to turn him on his people, on his troops, with little more than the properly worded phrase.

Cody watched him, sadness seeping out from his shields. "General...Obi-Wan...just because those demagolka changed your people somehow...that doesn't mean you're monsters."

"Not just monsters, perhaps."

***

Obi-Wan was not capable of hate, not in the way most species felt it. He knew what it was, knew what it felt like rubbing against him in the Force like a tamed tooka, what it tasted like flooding him as he sipped from a Sith opponent, but he didn't feel it.

If he could, he was almost certain that he would have fallen sometime between being shot at by his suddenly blank-feeling troopers, hearing from Yoda of how most of the Council had confronted Palpatine--Sidious, and having to watch the recording of Anakin slaughtering his way through the Temple.

"You went hunting a Sith without me?" the hiss in his words was the only sign of his emotional turmoil and he tightened his hands and tried to get himself together.

How many of his colleagues--his friends--would still be alive if they had waited?

“Important, it was, to strike quickly.” Yoda’s ears were tucked closely to his head, his shoulders slumped, but Obi-Wan had little sympathy. “The Will of the Force, to act.”

“To act without thinking, to rush headlong against a Sith powerful enough to hide from all of us,” he shot back.

Obi-Wan had known--had accepted--that a war against the Sith would mean exposing himself fully by the end. He’d even imagined that it might end up being against the hidden Sith Master, had looked into ways of reversing some of the procedures he’d gone through--at the very least for claws and teeth, and venom--and none of that mattered, apparently.

He didn’t think he could take Sidious by himself, not when the man would be prepared for attacks and surely knew what he was.

If they’d waited until Obi-Wan had returned, he could have given them the upperhand. “I sincerely doubt the ‘Will of the Force’ wanted the Jedi slaughtered,” he muttered, finally, starting off into the catacombs they hid in.

“Go to face Sidious, do you?”

“No, I’m going to find Anakin. There’s nothing we can do against Sidious, not right now.”

***

The first place he thought to look was with Padme. How many times had he and she played a game of pretending he didn’t know Anakin had spent the night there? How many times had he taken up the role of possible illicit paramore to draw attention from her closeness with Anakin?

She was near-panic, clouding the Force with her strong emotions, but she understood what they needed to do. If Anakin was caught in a torrent of the Darkside, they’d need to be very careful in talking him down.

“If we can’t reach him...will you kill him?” Her hands clutched her rounded belly, as though the children within could understand the conversation and needed comfort.

Obi-Wan took long breaths, staring down at Mustafar as the ship approached. The whole planet was rife with the Dark, making his instincts claw at the back of his mind. But it was Anakin he felt most strongly, the blazing sun of his Force present nothing but rage and fear, now.

“If we can’t reach him, that means it’s not Anakin anymore. We don’t know what Sidious did to him to get him to this point.” His hands clenched, imagining some of the stories his people shared of Sith crimes. “There might just...be nothing left of him.”

He was upsetting her, perhaps unnecessarily, but he needed her to know. Needed her to be prepared.

“Your children must be your priority, Padme. It’s what he would have thought, too.” They stared into each other’s eyes, her trying hard not to flinch away from him.

Outside, the volcanic air was harsh enough that Obi-Wan worried for her health--and Anakin's. The Force could do much, but if he wasn't careful, Anakin would ruin his lungs. He'd always been so reckless with his own body.

xxxxxx

A/N: This got a little too long to just be shoved in my drabble collection (where you'll find some other stuff using the same headcanons) so I decided to make it it's own work, even though I rewrote the ending like six times over the last few weeks. 

This post has everything so far about my headcanon, but in short: Stewjoni were originally sentient predators that fed off of Force users in particular and when the fallen Jedi alchemists met up with the Sith and found out about them, they experimented on them and made them into basically Sith hunting pets.

The very original idea was because I really can't stand Stewjoni (considering it was a joke that Lucas refused to back down on) and "Stewjon is Space Scotland," and there's this Scottish legend called a "baobhan sith" that's like a siren.

Sleep is one of my clone OCs.

[britts-galaxy-brain]

The Normalization of Toxicity

This will be my last post, and unless some miracle occurs within the greater Tumblr community, my last time on Tumblr in general. I’ve been thinking on giving some sort of final update for a while now just to get some things off my chest. This may be long and/or rambly. I will be linking some resources at the end of this post that have helped me tremendously over the past couple of years.

First off, I would like to express my utter disgust at what this website and by extension the fandom communities in general have devolved in to. I greatly underestimated just how out of control this beast had become. Before I got on Tumblr for the first time, I had heard the rumors but assumed they had been wildly exaggerated. How wrong I was, and yet I remained in denial during most of my time here, including when I was sharing information and speaking openly with people I should never have trusted. That is the only thing I feel I need to sincerely apologize to Lily for. Yes, what she has done and continues to do is reprehensible. Yes, everything I have shared about her is true and I have done my best to keep every bit of this sensitive information as accurate as possible. I absolutely should NOT have shared it with the people I did. All I succeeded in doing was feeding the beast, and contributing to the mental distortions and distresses that causes her to act the way she does in the first place. I did so with the best of intentions, albeit I was tainted with anger in such a way that I was denying at the time. I didn’t handle this well. I didn’t research the audience I was sharing this information with. That was a massive mistake which ended up producing the exact opposite results than what I hoped would happen (either Lily would see the pain she caused people and would be inspired to change for the better, or would be ousted from her position and be unable to hurt others). 

I stupidly believed the people who claim to care about this sort of thing were being genuine. They aren’t. These self-described ‘hunters’, at their core, mainly care about fueling the drama they use as an escape from their real life. The worst of them use it as a means to cover up their own closet skeletons and stroke their own egos. In the short time I was regularly involved with all of this, I witnessed an increasing amount of instances that have left me completely dumbfounded. Open predators are defended by some, while the ones who claim to want “justice” do nothing that would actually bring any sort of justice. These people are quickly forgotten within the internet’s short attention span, and they are left to continue to do what they do. People bandwagon around them, reducing the impact these people leave and making it harder for their actual victims to be taken seriously. It’s difficult to know how much of the dishonesty is intentional, or a result of moderate to severe uncontrolled mental illness. In Lily’s case, most of the conversations surrounding her involve debating her political and entertainment opinions rather than things she’s done that actually warrant discussion, and even that has been handled incredibly poorly and has just fed into her self-defenses. I do not excuse myself from feeding into it as well.

On the topic of mental illness, I realized a hard truth during my hiatus. The things we use most as coping mechanisms are actually harming us. I quit social media entirely for a few months, and realized I really was addicted. I also realized the memes and self-deprecating jokes we think are cathartic and helpful are feeding into these negative feelings about ourselves. They reinforce the identities we’ve built around ourselves. “Being trash”, “depressed”, ect become a comfort zone because that is what becomes familiar. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not railing against social media in general, just how we’ve been using it. Think about the last time you scrolled your Facebook feed, or whatever you spend a lot of time scrolling on. You automatically relate to and maybe even laugh at self-deprecating images and jokes. “Hah, I’m so fucking depressed.” “Hah, I’m garbage.” “Hah, I have no friends.” “Hah, I want to kill myself.” Now think about when you see something positive. “Psh, that’s not me.” “I don’t deserve that.” “I’m actually ugly, but okay.” You push against anything positive because on a deep level, it scares you. It threatens the identity you’ve built around yourself, which is the thing that gives you a sense of grounding to the world around you and the role you play in it.

I was an absolute MESS when I first started challenging my own darkness. I hadn’t realized just how deep I had gone. I was horribly paranoid. Angry. Deeply depressed. My memory is still recovering from the several years of constant extreme stress I went through. I’m finally getting stable, which is genuinely the first time in my life I can say that. It felt fucking weird for a while, and it still does at times. It feels strange being comfortable in my own home. It feels uncertain but great that I’m at a point where I can afford my bills and still have some money left over. I’m finding interest in old and new hobbies. I have real goals for the future that I am actively working toward. I have a support system that cares about me enough to tell me the truth instead of enabling my bad habits and behaviors, and it took a long time for me to trust that they truly had my best intentions at heart. 

It has been one of the most difficult things I’ve ever experienced. I had to break and completely reshape myself. It has taken daily maintenance, practice, research, ect and I have gotten lazy and fallen off the wagon multiple times, but I absolutely refuse to let myself go back to where I was. Never again. It has cost me quite a few people that I thought were friends, and most of my family. I’m still not quite where I want to be with myself, but I’m taking steps to get there and I feel like I’m making real progress. 

I guess the point to this is to hopefully send out a message of hope to those of you who want to get out of the dark, and are ready to do so. There are ways to heal, and you deserve that, regardless of your past or what other people have said about you. It’s never too late and it’s okay to hurt and grieve during this process. It isn’t easy, it can take quite a while and a LOT of willpower, but it is doable. 

I may check back at some point to see if anyone has any questions or would like advice, but I won’t be discussing Lily any longer, nor will I be resharing any information about her. It’s out there in multiple places if you really want to find it. 

That’s all for now. I wish you all the best and hope this reaches someone. - Thought Bubble https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCpuqYFKLkcEryEieomiAv3Q - Therapy in a Nutshell (licensed therapist specializing in anxiety, depression, attachment styles, and trauma-related mental illnesses. Uses neuroplasticity along with other therapeutic practices. This one has helped me the most.) https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCybBViio_TH_uiFFDJuz5tg - Einzelganger (Philosophy channel with a focus on stoicism and individual existentialism.)

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiRiQGCHGjDLT9FQXFW0I3A - Academy of Ideas (Philosophy channel with a focus on self-mastery.)

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-tLyAaPbRZiYrOJxAGB7dQ - Pursuit of Wonder (Philosophy channel with a focus on existentialism in relation to the world as a whole.)

[beautifulterriblequeen]

Melkor and Glorfindel in TDP

My mind is still running off my Aaravos’s-plan-and-Runaan’s-fate hc that spun from @queensaraiz​‘s hc that Aaravos punished Queen Aditi by turning her human. (And come on, that’s a brilliantly horrible plan, I love it tbh) Remember how the Orphan Queen’s picture only shows three fingers, but a round human ear?

I commented on that when it first came out because I always look at elf hands, but everyone thought it was an angle thing. Maybe it is. But maybe it’s not.

Okay, on to what woke me up this morning. 

Runaan looks terrified in the purple light of Viren’s staff. I think he knows exactly what’s going to happen to him, because he knows the story of what Aaravos did to Queen Aditi--or whoever the Orphan Queen is. Aaravos stripped out her arcanum, and that is why Aaravos is worse than death. Especially to any elf who is prejudiced against humans. Aaravos can curse an elf to live a mortal life without magic. It’s a long, drawn-out, miserable existence--as far as the elves are concerned. Runaan would far prefer to die swiftly and honorably in battle, and his Moonshadow powers are a huge part of who he is.

He’s going to lose the one part of him that he identifies with most, the one thing that gives him his abilities, which he uses on missions to serve his people. Without his arcanum, Runaan will feel worthless, useless, whether he’s free and whole or not. He won’t be himself ever again, and that is indeed worse than death to him.

When Runaan got put into the coin, we only watched Gren’s reaction to it. Runaan screaming in agony onscreen wasn’t really appropriate for a kids’ show. But what if something else was happening to him that we weren’t supposed to know about yet?

If burning out an elf’s arcanum turns them human, maybe Runaan’s horns burned off too. The Orphan Queen doesn’t have any horns anymore. It would hurt horribly--he’d definitely scream about that. His hands are very conveniently pressed across the top of the coin so we can’t see any hint of them. He still has his pointy ears, and we get one glimpse of his horn cuff. But Runaan had really big ears as an elf, so maybe he just has cute human ears with points now? 

And his horns were designed very specifically so that he could hide them by lifting his chin and looking “good” and flaring them up behind his head by dropping his chin when he wanted to look intimidating, like when he says “hard enough to do whatever it takes.” He uses his horns as a deliberate sign of his dark and deadly side. If that part of him burns away, that’s actually better for his character.

But it also gives us the opportunity for a false reveal. Seeing him straight on, we’ll see the rounded metal of his horn cuffs as we always have. Only when he turns or tips his head will we see that they’re empty, just tucked into his hair. Appearances, remember? He wants to feel their weight on his head.

With them still on his head, holding nothing, possibly feeling his ear points starting to resorb, Runaan’s in an existential crisis. He’s getting broken by truth--something Moonshadows never want to look too closely at.

Who is he, if he’s not the Moonshadow elf Runaan? He’s lost so much further out into the dark than he thought possible. 

You know who will take one look, bow, and say “Trees to meet you” though. Ethari. Ethari won’t care what Runaan looks like on the outside. No spell can change a person’s heart. Runaan is still Ethari’s beloved husband, and he’s so kind and gentle and instantly accepting--even of humans!--I can’t see any reason he wouldn’t just sweep Runaan into his powerful arms, no matter what bits of him are missing, and cry with happiness that his husband is home.

Now, that said. Why did I title this Melkor and Glorfindel?

Melkor is the big evil dude that Sauron served in the Silmarillion. He took elves and locked them away underground and tortured them for hundreds of years, until they became something dark, shambling, and twisted: orcs.

Aaravos, in my new headcanon, created humans by stripping out the magical connection they were born with, in order to create his own version of life. He deliberately mutilated elves to create something of his own, his own race, his own contribution to the world. Of course he loves humans best. He made them out of elves. And therefore, he absolutely did create dark magic and give it to his darlings, because the Master Plan is to get rid of the elves by sending his pets to burn them. Burn out their arcana or burn them as spell fuel, it doesn’t matter. Aaravos will have a world where nothing remains but his precious humans. And then there will be balance. A balance of his own making, where none of the other Star Touches had succeeded.

Now for Glorfindel. He was a brave hero in the Silmarillion, with long and glorious golden hair, who fell in battle. Through great effort and a boon of magic from the the King of the Valar, Manwë, Glorfindel was restored to full life and health, and continued fighting for what was right, the only elf to ever come back from beyond the grave.

I know I’ve compared Runaan to Glorfindel on his epic hair and my hopes for his restoration before. But this time I have an extra headcanon.

Since Callum is a person who exists and has connected to an arcanum of his own choosing, I think that’s truly why he’s the “special boy”. Not because he’s the only human who can do that. But because he’s the one who can teach humans and former elves alike how to consciously choose an arcanum and connect with it. 

I think Callum will help Runaan choose a new arcanum. And because Runaan’s experiences were so horrific, and resulted directly from him doing his Moonshadow duty, I think Runaan will struggle with choosing. I don’t think he’ll just pick up Moon again. I hope he talks it over with Ethari so they both understand what could happen. But I hope Runaan goes into that wild new learning process with an open heart and a willingness to change.

I think at that point he might pick Sun and become a Sunfire elf. How hilarious to turn the tables on that old Sunfire-tinker headcanon! We’d get our eclipse anyway, but in reverse. And the whole point of choosing Sun is so Runaan can get a light-being. So that after all the taking and destruction he has caused, he can now dedicate his life to healing and restoring. To comfort instead of distress. We all saw how soft he was with Ethari. Imagine if he gets to be that soft with everyone, because he can actually embrace his own feels now! He’s always been too soft to be a Moonshadow.

He could pick another arcanum that gives him healing abilities, if they’re out there: Earth and Ocean come to mind. But I like Sun the best because when Runaan’s new horns grow in, and his hair changes color, he can literally have Glorfindel’s glorious long golden locks.

Maybe he’ll find his way to becoming the Sun King by the end of the war. His craftsman husband would have literally a million ideas for what to do with the Sunforge, and what all he can make with that much magical power. I can think of no better person to entrust it to--someone who has studied hard to make up for a weaker magic ability, who relies on learning new things (not a very Moonshadow trait at all) in order to remain of service.

If Runaan remained the Sun, and Ethari remained the Moon, that would be a lovely pairing. Runaan would literally rise from Shadow to Sun, and that’s one hell of a redemption arc.

Although... would Ethari remain a Moonshadow? Or would he sacrifice to join his husband in his new arcanum? From Moon and Shadow to Sun and Fire? Runaan being the Sun and Ethari being the Fire? All the better to work the Sunforge, my dear.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: Delicate Cycle

Author: @cellophanerose

For: @akito666us

Rating/Warnings: G/No warnings apply!

Prompt: Hinata helps Komaeda to recover from PTSD

Author’s notes: Hello!  It’s my first time writing fic, but I still hope you enjoy!  It’s more of “Hinata helps Komaeda recover” in general - I hope that’s ok!  Thanks for reading!

Hinata had already known that his past was indelible, even if he couldn’t remember it.  This was something that class 77-B all had in common – their lives in despair seemed like a hazy memory of a story someone once told, not the painful truth of how responsible they all were for the effective end of the world.  Ironically, most of the class more clearly remembered what had happened in the simulation, even though only the “survivors” left with their memories completely intact. Still, it wasn’t something easily brought up – asking a murder victim if they remembered how they died, or the blackened if they could still feel the phantom pains from their executions.  Because that was the thing – although no physical harm was carried over, the mental scars cut deeper than any murder weapon.

Despite all their attempts to move forward and forgive each other, Koizumi still flinched when she ran into Pekoyama alone, and Sainoji surreptitiously rubbed her throat when she thought no one was looking.   Hanamura froze up when his batter splashed onto him, and Tanaka clutched his fists hard enough to draw blood when loud stampeding sounded. Truly, even a fictional past was inescapable, but they all silently agreed that this would be their penance.

However, Hinata noted, Komaeda remained virtually unaffected.  No panic attacks when walking by the warehouse, no nervous sweating at the sight of ropes or fire, not even the spears they used for fishing or bright red containers..

“It was something I did to myself, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda once tried to explain.  “I knew exactly what to expect and prepared myself for that. Besides, I’ve been in plenty of other terrible accidents and trauma-inducing situations!” Komaeda tried laughing it off, but Hinata still felt he wasn’t getting the whole truth.  But, since he had nothing to go on save for a gut feeling, Hinata decided to let it go for now. Plenty of his classmates vocally asked for his guidance, so he wasn’t going to pull teeth trying to get Komaeda to reach out for help. He wouldn’t even worry about it!  At all!

Or so Hinata had told himself.  Until, one night, his mind was screaming at him that he wasn’t doing enough – that he would never be enough – that offering his entire being to the sacrificial altar of Hope’s Peak Academy for a chance to mean something still wasn’t enough – kept him awake.  (Between visions of a talentless reserve, a bored god, and a dead digital girl, he hardly ever slept through the night, but none of his friends needed to know this.) Tonight, however, instead of futilely chasing sleep that was never coming for him, Hinata slipped his sneakers on and stepped outside.  He figured he could do some preliminary work for the day ahead, namely making rounds and noting any malfunctioning equipment or depleted supplies, but truthfully he just felt the need to move.

Hinata left his cottage and headed towards the communal washing machines when he noticed the light was already on.  Not an odd thing, per se – several of his peers also had trouble sleeping, but the quiet music did pique his curiosity.  It was definitely a familiar song, but he didn’t connect the dots until he opened the door and found Komaeda kneeling on the ground, looking like a marionette whose strings had been cut.  It was then it all came together in Hinata’s mind – the heat from the fire, the smoke causing his eyes to tear, the pounding of feet and the shattering of bottles, and finally the sprinklers turning on, leaving only the overwhelming feeling of dread and anxiety for reasons he was too afraid to confront.  So many sensations had led up to that point, but when they pulled back the curtain, all Hinata could remember was ((despair)). The smell of blood, the look of terror permanently affixed to his face, the spear grotesquely impaling his stomach, every nauseating detail came giftwrapped in a single thought, a single moment, a single truth – Komaeda was dead.

Hinata snapped back into the present.

Komaeda was alive, and he needed Hinata’s help.  Hinata instinctually dashed to the radio and slammed the power button, then immediately pivoted and fell onto the floor beside Komaeda.  Komaeda’s usually crisp and clear eyes were faded and swirling with a slight darkness, and his façade was distressingly blank.

“Komaeda,” Hinata was shaking, but he still placed both of his hands on Komaeda’s shoulders in an effort to ground him.  His grip tightened when he received no answer.

“Komaeda!” he raised his voice, panic bubbling inside him, “It’s okay!  I’m here with you.” He couldn’t eloquently string words of comfort together, but he tried his best.  “You’re safe, you aren’t alone, you’re going to be fine, just please listen to me!”  Komaeda offered no reassurance that the words were reaching him and continued staring blankly through Hinata, to a place only he could see.

Hinata’s hands were still trembling when he wrapped his arms around Komaeda.  They had never been physically intimate like this, but at that moment, Hinata needed to feel Komaeda’s warmth just as much as Komaeda needed Hinata.  “I’m here,” Hinata mumbled, surprising himself when the words, “I’ll always be here,” slipped out. The most shocking part, Hinata found, was that he wanted it to be true.

Hinata had lost many of his friends during the killing game, and he cared about each one of them, but he would be lying if he said Komaeda’s death didn’t leave an especially strong impact on him.  Even after it was revealed that Komaeda had orchestrated his own death, Hinata felt a sadness and regret that he didn’t want to name at the time. Nanami paid the ultimate price for Komaeda’s actions when she didn’t get the choice, so it was easy to bury those earlier feelings under anger and frustration.  After everything had settled, and Hinata was reunited with their digital classmate in a moment of great distress, he couldn’t ignore those buried feelings.

Hinata didn’t want Komaeda to be alone.  Luck had constantly torn those who cared about Komaeda away from him, leaving him with no one who loved him.  Komaeda had told Hinata once that he was afraid of dying alone, and though Hinata at the time fell for Komaeda’s lie of “it was something I read in a book!” it wasn’t because Hinata truly believed it, but rather because it was easier to do so.  Komaeda had given him an out in the form of a flimsy lie, and Hinata had taken it.  Of course Komaeda was afraid of dying alone – after spending as much time as he had with Komaeda, it was an obvious conclusion for Hinata to reach.  And yet, Komaeda manufactured a situation where he would not only die alone, but also in such a horrific manner. He chose to die alone, and that was something Hinata could never accept.

So when Komaeda finally raised his arms to return Hinata’s embrace, Hinata felt such a wave of relief and calm that it nearly brought tears to his eyes.  

~

When Komaeda came to, he admonished himself for being so weak, and started brainstorming ways to explain his reaction away.  Telling Hinata he wasn’t having problems with his death, and yet here he was, putting on such an unsightly display. …Actually, what was Hinata doing here in the first place?  Embracing Komaeda, of all people? Maybe it had something to do with why Hinata was shaking, he thought. He might as well venture a guess (and buy himself some more time in the process.)

“Hinata-kun, why are you shaking so much?  Are you getting sick, maybe?” The question was asked in earnest, but Hinata reacted with anger.

“Don’t make light of this!  Do you really think I would be so heartless as to not react?” Hinata was still trembling, but he let his arms fall from Komaeda and balled his hands into fists.  Komaeda felt a flash of disappointment before curiosity returned. Maybe he was thinking of this the wrong way?

“…Are you angry with me, Hinata-kun?”  Komaeda felt a little silly trying to have a conversation while kneeling on the floor, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Is it really that hard for you to imagine that I was worried about you, Komaeda?  That I feel things other than anger and boredom?” Hinata stood up, and Komaeda quickly followed.  Hinata looked directly into Komaeda’s eyes, but whatever he was searching for, he must not have been able to find.  “…Sorry,” Hinata continued, “this isn’t… I just was scared, all right? Hearing that music, and seeing you like that, I… Actually, it doesn’t matter.”  Komaeda was ready to refute that ‘No, it actually matters a great deal,’ but Hinata still continued.

“Are you ok, Komaeda?  Does that happen often?”  Hinata looked painfully earnest, so Komaeda held back his self-deprecating comments for now.

“Thank you for worrying about me, Hinata-kun, but I’m all right.   That song simply caught me off-guard. Up until today, I had completely forgotten it was part of my plan.  Only somebody totally useless like me would let such an insignificant thing shut them down!” Komaeda hoped Hinata would let his ‘useless’ slide for now.  Hinata sighed and placed his hand on Komaeda’s shoulder.

“It’s ok to not be all right, you know?  I know you don’t think you’re worth it, but we’re all here to support each other.  You went through something terrible. And don’t say it doesn’t count ‘cause you did it to yourself!  You wouldn’t be collapsed in front of a washing machine at 3 AM if you weren’t hurting. Maybe you don’t even realize it, but even if that pain isn’t on the surface, I want to remove it from you.”  Hinata held Komaeda’s robotic hand with both of his own. “I won’t let you get lost in despair again.”

Komaeda was deeply shaken by those words, and even if he wanted so badly to believe them, he just couldn’t bring himself to do so.  He ached to open up, to lay everything out to Hinata that he couldn’t even tell himself, but he knew he wasn’t brave enough to do so.  Instead, he fell back into his failsafe: being contentious.

“Haha…Tell me, Hinata-kun, what makes you think you have the power to do such a thing?  What could a failure of a reserve course guinea pig do to help someone like me?” He was on a dangerous line, he knew - already he had slipped up and admitted that he needed help.  But the faster he hurt Hinata and pushed him far enough away, the better. “I never asked for your pity.”

The words stung both of them, Komaeda realized.  He was so used to pushing away people he cared about, but hurting Hinata felt especially vile.  However, Hinata surprised him by doing the exact opposite of what he’d planned - instead of getting angry and storming off, he agreed.

“I guess I am pretty useless,” Hinata started.  “I’ve always known I was a failure, and you’ve never hidden your contempt for that part of me.  But I won’t let that stop me. Because I know you, and I know you want this,” Hinata laced his fingers with Komaeda’s, “And so do I.  You can’t push me away this time, Komaeda.”

Komaeda’s heart was pounding so loudly that he was afraid the roof would collapse from the sound.  He looked up into Hinata’s eyes and saw all stubborn determination and kindness and hope.  Komaeda’s lips trembled.

How long had he wanted this?  Someone to talk to him, someone to comfort him?  Someone to take his hand and make silly, irresponsible promises?

“…I guess if you’re going to be that stubborn, I won’t be able to stop you,” Komaeda tried saying nonchalantly, but a genuine smile was sneaking its way onto his face.  He still couldn’t bring himself to fully believe it, but looking at Hinata’s expression, he couldn’t not believe it either. Hinata relaxed in understanding of Komaeda’s thinly veiled acceptance.  He squeezed Komaeda’s hand once more before letting it drop. Suddenly, it was like the force that was keeping Hinata steady had vanished and his visage changed to one of pure exhaustion. He swayed towards Komaeda, who held him upright.

“Hey, Hinata-kun?  Have you been sleeping poorly lately, perhaps?”   He paused for a second before deciding to take it a step further.   “I’ve also had problems sleeping recently. Do you want to talk about it?”  Hinata looked like he wanted to object, but realized the hypocrisy of such and decided to answer honestly.

“A little bit.  Nightmares, y’know?  Sometimes I can’t get my brain to shut off,” Hinata admitted. “ A lot of the times I can’t remember if what I see in my dreams is real or not.”  Komaeda had a hunch on what Hinata was referring to, but didn’t interrupt. “…Sometimes, I dream about you.” Komaeda jolted to attention.

“Ah, my features are quite haunting, I suppose-” before Komaeda could spit any more vitriol, Hinata cut him off.

“About your death,” Hinata clarified.  Komaeda’s vision briefly flashed to visions of fire and blood and pain, but a quick squeeze of Hinata’s arm brought him back to reality.  Well, that was surprising. Komeada chalked it up to sleep deprivation that Hinata was admitting this, because the thought that he wanted Komaeda to know how much it affected him was too much to handle.  

“…Do you want to tell me?” Komaeda didn’t know how far he could push his boundaries.

“No- I mean - yes, but… I do want to talk with you eventually, but I’m not sure if I have enough energy for it right now.”  Was his death truly something that haunted Hinata to such a point? Komaeda had no reason to believe he was lying, but still…

“Let’s try getting some sleep, then,” Komaeda suggested instead.  “We can always talk more at a later time!” Komaeda gave Hinata a tired, but bright, smile.  He was elated when Hinata returned one in kind.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Hinata grinned.  Hinata was so bright, like a beacon of hope for Komaeda, but he was still so human and flawed.  He had felt a kinship with Hinata from the very first time they met, but through all the trials and tribulations they went through, Komaeda had found himself drawn to something more than a feeling of similarity.  He listened to Komaeda’s ramblings, and while he didn’t always agree, he always engaged. It felt like someone was finally seeing him, and that prickly kindness Hinata offered was ‘hope’ in his eyes.

Yes, to say Hinata was Komaeda’s hope wasn’t an exaggeration.  Every version of Hinata was dear to him, and the man standing before him despite all odds was the man he grew to love.

~

Hinata was dizzy with exhaustion and giddiness (at being heard, at finally reaching out and being honest with Komaeda, at Komaeda reaching back) that when Komaeda gave a small wave and turned to leave, he called out to him.

“Komaeda!”  Maybe Hinata didn’t want this bubble to pop because he was afraid that, even after tonight, nothing would change, or maybe he could blame sleep deprivation.  But when Komaeda turned around in response and Hinata pulled him into a hug and whispered, “thanks,” Hinata realized there wasn’t a reason - he just wanted to hold Komaeda. Hinata was treated to the sight of a slightly red-faced Komaeda, awkwardly deciding how to react.

“Nnnh…No problem?” Komaeda asked, clearly looking for an explanation from Hinata.  However, when Hinata dropped his arms and walked away, he left Komaeda with nothing but a ‘good night.’  If Hinata’s ears were burning by the time he got back to his cabin, Komaeda didn’t need to know.  

That night, he dreamt of soft touches and interlocking fingers, of white hair and pale eyes.

Hinata wasn’t naive enough to believe that this was the end of nightmares or breakdowns for either of them, but when Komaeda invited him to stargaze and air some more things out before they fell asleep, he had hope that both of them were healing.  Even when Komaeda’s luck inevitably brought a storm that covered the stars and drenched them both to the bone, Hinata had never felt as calm as he did when Komaeda dozed off while leaning his head against his shoulder. He spent a long time listening to the soft sound of Komaeda’s breathing and feeling the slight movements beside him before following Komaeda into sleep.

While it was still true that they couldn’t erase their pasts, they can still move towards a brighter future together.

[hancfubuki]

character analysis;

SAKURA FUTABA

alright, lads. those who know me or followed me on my previous blog know that i LOVE to do this. i need to clarify that i study psychology, so these analysis is coming from a professional point of view ( which i do mostly to reinforce my essays because like, teachers love to make us analyse movies and characters lol ) and solidify my characters as my passion is giving a feeling to them of ACTUAL human beings. 

now, i have seen many headcanons of futaba being autistic but, yet again, from a psychological perspective i don’t see it, and i’m gonna explain why. ( however if you headcanon her as autistic is completely valid. this is a personal analysis and perspective ).

if you have a character analysis request let me know and i’ll be more than glad to do it!!

DISCLAIMER: THIS IS GONNA BE A LONG POST. I’LL TRY TO MAKE IT AS SHORT AS POSSIBLE BUT I KNOW BEFOREHAND IT IS FOR SURE GONNA BE LONG. 

breaking down the character i can see clear signals of depression, anxiety disorder, agoraphobia, hikikomori syndrome and selective mutism; this last one is commonly mistaken with the autistic spectrum because the common knowledge is associating the non-verbal behavior with the autistic spectrum or cases of schizophrenia, but in fact, this condition is not only applicable to those disorders. in real life, some people have been diagnosed with autism when in fact they suffer selective mutism, so it’s better to actually understand the root of the disorder before jumping to conclusions and giving an actual diagnosis. 

let’s start with a short definition of each condition:

MAJOR DEPRESSIVE DISORDER: this condition affects negatively on the way a patient feels, thinks or acts. it causes severe feelings of sadness and in the majority of the cases loss of interest in activities that were formerly enjoyed. this also has an effect on the patient’s behavior and can also lead to physical problems. 

( SOCIAL ) ANXIETY DISORDER: a pretty common condition ( there are studies that say that nearly 30% of the adult population suffer from this disorder ). this is actually a normal reaction of the brain when it senses excessive fear or stress, it alerts our brain of possible danger and sometimes it can escalate and turn into panic attacks. 

AGORAPHOBIA: derives from the anxiety disorder. it is the fear of open, big spaces that can handle large crowds. usually the patient’s affected with this phobia feel fear mostly because they anticipate situations like using public transportation, standing in line, etc. it causes an immense fear that leads to panic attacks because they feel trapped, helpless or embarrassed. in some cases, this phobia starts because of previous panic attacks, so the patient will try to avoid those places and if something triggers that feeling, the phobia is going to act up.

HIKIKOMORI SYNDROME: this is a japanese culture-bound syndrome. it affects mostly young people in japan. they live isolated from the world, most of them locked down on their parent’s house ( some of the cases might communicate ONLY with their relatives. in the most severe cases they won’t speak to anyone at all ). this lock down can last days, months or years and it is heavily influenced by the internet and technology, as the it is their only escape. 

SELECTIVE MUTISM: also derives from anxiety disorder. the patient is unable to speak in CERTAIN social situations. it usually starts on childhood but it also affects adults. contrary to its name the person does not refuse to speak, they don’t have a choice as they are truly UNABLE to speak. certain people triggers panic on them and this causes the talking to be impossible, as it is an anxiety disorder, the person will anticipate situation as well that cause distress. however, despite of this trigger the people that suffer from this condition is able to speak freely to close family circles and friends as they don’t really trigger a freeze response on them. mostly this fear comes from the expectation the other person might have on them, and this provokes the anxiety causing a great difficulty responding or initiating verbal communication.

moving to her personality and background, from the very first moment we notice the anxiety coming from her, she is only able to communicate behind a screen and with an alias as she does not really completely trusts the phantom thieves. why do i think she has selective mutism instead of being under the autistic spectrum? easy, when you start the game you can notice sojiro constantly getting calls ( and we realize later on they were from futaba ). meaning that she is able to bond properly with him, sojiro even explains later on the game that she didn’t eat nor talk for a long time and little by little he was regaining her trust to let her know that she wasn’t alone. still, you can notice sojiro’s guilt as he is not able to take her out of the house and he is happy that at least she is eating but still you can see the traces of the depression and anxiety on her personality.

futaba explains her desire to die, a common thought that derives from depression as the people that suffer this condition usually see life as meaningless. she doesn’t want to be seen either, so she covers her face and any trace that could easily identify her because yet again, she needs trust to speak normally to another person, besides she has this constant fear of being judged which shows her anxiety. 

also a very important point is that people with this affections ( anxiety and selective mutism ) is that they might come off as RUDE or BLUNT ( something we notice on futaba ), because they are well, socially inept. however, as soon as she starts spending more time with the thieves she starts acting more relaxed and it’s when she starts showing her cheerful, childish side. i truly believe that these conditions started from her childhood, because as it is stated on her story line, she grew up being a lonely child. kids would just ignore her because she was considered a genius, her mother was never home and she started believing that her mother cared more about her research than being with her, this plus the lack of friendships and her mother’s dead only developed a severe anxiety disorder that later on was going to evolve in the conditions i explained previously. 

the thieves indeed help her to slowly start her process of overcoming her fears, and it shows that initially she didn’t really got along well with all of them, especially makoto because makoto has a more mature vibe than the others and this would only intimidate her and made it hard to actually catch her attention because most of the subjects makoto would bring were considered boring for futaba. remember that social anxiety causes that, you are not going to bond with everyone and only trust can lead to a relationship of reciprocate interest. 

overall, we can see how throughout the game she starts doing better. she creates a list with joker that allows her to conquer her own fears and well, after all everything is a process that takes years. she still relies a lot on the internet, but now she has real interaction and friends, but still when joker is about to leave she thinks about the possibility of them no talking to her anymore because akira is actually the glue in the group. of course thankfully it didn’t go that way, and they remained closed even after their leader left ( it’s canon on P5D don’t touch me ). akira is such an important figure for her as well, he has a lot to do with her improvement and i sense ADMIRATION coming from her, because akira is everything she would never dare to be. however the best chemistry she has among her friends are ryuji and yusuke, as they are easygoing, eccentric people and it’s easier to pick up trust on their personalities, as well as morgana as she shows a deep love for cats. ann, makoto and haru are the completely opposite of what futaba is yet the friendship still work because they take up on the big sis role for her. makoto is extremely mature so she actually helps her to find her boundaries, ann might have caused an issue on her self-esteem at some point but she also is someone she admires because futaba realized that she is not only looks, instead, she is an actual warrior who deals with a lot of things, and haru is the fluff ball that actually spoils her. all the different personalities among the group helps futaba towards her rehabilitation ( i’m sorry, i had to LMAO ). 

an important aspect is sojiro, HE DOESN’T PRESSURE HER INTO ANYTHING, he knows and understand what she is going through and he let her be because he is aware that HE CANNOT CHANGE HER. change and getting better is a personal decision, and of course a person needs support but you can’t actually do it for them. honestly, sojiro is a GREAT paternal figure and he deserves all the love he gets because he is so caring and understanding that he contributes to her growing. also the balance in the group of friends is really important for a person who suffers from severe anxiety disorders because it allows them to interact and explore things that are out of their comfort zone, and this is the case with the thieves. they are so different yet so similar that it is easy for her to understand how despite having a similar background it affects everyone differently, leading her to open up her mind a little and allowing her to understand that the change lies within her.

in summary, we can notice a big change on futaba, she is more comfortable outside and with people and she eventually will be over her traumas. remember that she is still growing up and she has a lot to go through, there will be good and bad times, probably future traumas that might affect her anxiety but that’s what i love about her character, it’s not about “getting cured of the conditions” is learning to live with them because they are apart of you. and this is what the character development on my futaba portrayal will go, it will be her accepting her anxiety and realizing that anxiety doesn’t control her but instead finding balance. 

[intothestarkerverse]

Time of Our Lives (Part Seven)

Based on a prompt from @geekymarvel  

Peter is tasked with an important mission that requires him to go back in time.   Finding himself at a gala for Stark industries in the 1990’s, he comes face to face with a young and incorrigible Tony Stark who considers Peter’s attempts to deny his advances a challenge.  Now, dogged by a horny young CEO who won’t take no for an answer, Peter’s task has become much more difficult….

(STORY CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS)

Read on AO3

Tony Stark had long ago learned to live independently.  From boarding school as a child to MIT as a teenager to working for his family’s Fortune 500 company as an adult, he had rarely been coddled and had taught himself how to survive without many close personal attachments, depending only upon himself, and never allowing sentimentality to consume him.  He could count those for whom he deeply cared on a single hand:  Edwin Jarvis, James Rhodes, and (before her death) Maria Stark.  The rest of the billions of people on the Earth?  He never expected much more from them than a fleeting night’s entertainment and debauchery or more money to pad his already over-inflated bank account.

The last thing that Tony Stark ever anticipated was how easily Peter Parker seemed to fit into that life of self-imposed solitude.  Perhaps some of that could be accredited to Peter’s familiarity with the Old Man.  Peter was not as easily offended by Tony’s peculiarities because, no doubt, the Old Man hadn’t grown out of all of them.  He laughed at Tony’s dry wit.  He blushed at Tony’s flirtations.  He called Tony out on his shit and somehow instinctively had a sixth sense about when to stand his ground and when to back down to Tony’s mercurial temper.  It was like being with someone he’d known for years, and there were times when he had to consciously remind himself that they’d actually met only a short time ago.

It was likely that the Old Man kept his lab organized in a similar way to Tony’s, more because Tony was a creature of habit than because there was any tried or true system to it.  Even decades into the past, that had to be how Peter seemed so at ease in the area of Tony’s home in which he had always felt the most comfortable and in control.  But it wasn’t just the lab.  It was everything else, too.

There were no breakfast buffets after that first morning, but there was always some manner of breakfast food waiting for them when they woke up.  Eggs and bacon.  Waffles.  Pancakes.  Muffins.  Something.  Peter playfully teased and cajoled Tony into taking at least a few bites of food, sometimes even serving him up a small plate with his morning coffee with the insistence that “even a brain as amazing as the great Tony Stark’s needs fuel.”  As much as Tony pretended to hate it, there was some long-buried and never-recognized part of him that was happy to have someone who cared about his morning caloric intake.  It had been such a very long time since someone had tried to take care of him, someone who wasn’t on his payroll and was genuinely concerned about him because of an emotional fondness and not a monetary need, at any rate.  It felt much nicer than he was ever going to be willing to admit to anyone.  Even when he didn’t feel like eating, he always caved in and ate at least a few bites of whatever Peter was offering him.  It was only to pacify the kid, he told himself, but if he was being honest…he might become more of a breakfast person if his mornings were going to stay like this forever.  But they weren’t.  That’s what he had to keep telling himself.

After breakfast, if Stark Industries could do without their CEO, the two men were off to Tony’s home lab.  The first time he’d showed Peter the lab, he had genuinely hoped for a bigger reaction.  Peter was not nearly as impressed as he would have hoped, but…Tony had to remind himself that he was still competing against that ridiculous Old Man who had the benefit of 21st Century technology and several decades of trial and error that Tony had yet to experience. Of course the Old Man’s lab was going to be shinier and more impressive.  Of course Peter wasn’t going to ‘ooo’ and ‘awww’ over technology that he likely found woefully outdated and comical.  Tony wasn’t bitter about that.  At least…not much.  To his credit, Peter seemed genuinely taken with Dum-E and U.  He greeted them like old friends…and they probably were, come to think of it.  If it was possible, the robots seemed equally enamored by the kid.  Though, as Tony watched Peter giggle and duck Dum-E’s awkwardly swinging appendage, the inventor wondered if there was anyone who wasn’t charmed by the spiderling within minutes of meeting him.  How did he fight crime in the future?  How did all of the criminals not just turn themselves in at the prospect of causing that boy an ounce of harm?  How had the Old Man not become an authoritarian dictator imposing martial law on New York City just to keep the crime rate down and make sure that Peter Parker never encountered anything more dangerous than lost tourists and purse thieves?  

Peter felt responsible for the Old Man’s death.  It wasn’t so hard for Tony to imagine that he’d died for Peter.  Protecting him.  Saving him.  Guaranteeing him a future of rainbows and unicorns.  Not that Tony would ever do anything like that himself.  He could just…understand where the Old Man might have become more sentimental as senility and infirmity crept up on him.  Tony Stark was a self-centered piece of shit…one who choked down unwanted breakfast food every morning just to watch Peter’s face light up with triumph and joy over his small victory.

Fuck.

The lab work was as grueling as Tony had warned that it would be.  Fixing the Nullifer was an impossible task.  There were six glass boards erected on wheels around the lab, all of them covered in colorful, erasably marked equations as Tony and Peter broke the Nullifer down to the bare bones theories Howard Stark had hypothesized when creating it.  There were parts strewn across several work tables.  Blue prints and schematics pinned to walls, taped to floors…  

Though he would never say as much out loud, Tony was impressed by Peter.  His grasp of theoretical physics was remarkable for a kid without a college degree.  Though there were times that Peter needed him to break down the truly advanced parts of a few of the equations, Peter was quick to grasp the concepts once they were explained and proved unafraid to voice his own ideas and theories.  He wasn’t just beautiful, sexy, and brave, he was also smart enough to carry on a scientific conversation with Tony without being left behind…and without boring the inventor.  That, in and of itself, was astounding.  Much to his own chagrin, Tony found himself hauling out other projects, theories, concepts, prototypes…explaining them all to Peter with a touch more eagerness than his self-respect preferred and taking in the boy’s praise or suggestions like he was starving for it.  

They always broke for lunch when the sound of Peter’s stomach rumbling became too distracting, taking whatever fare Jarvis had prepared for them back to the lab so they could eat and work at the same time…though they rarely did.  The ‘picnics’ as Peter called them were usually spent discussing things other than the Nullifer, mostly because Peter insisted that it was important to give the brain time to process things subconsciously.  Tony did have to admit that more often than not, after they’d spent all of lunch arguing over who the best Star Wars characters were while seated in the only clean part of the lab (a six foot square section of floor in the left center) there was some kind of small ‘eureka’ moment that led them down a new path.  It was never the right path, but he had warned Peter that he thought the Nullifer could never actually be fixed.  It certainly wasn’t like, as days passed, Tony was hoping he was right and that stupid machine was broken well into their old age.  Because that wasn’t true.  Or at least, he’d never admit it.  Even to himself.

It was somewhat distressing how little Stark Industries seemed to actually need their CEO around.  Tony suspected that Obie was probably still shouldering a lot of the workload, and since he had no desire to dip his toes into the bureaucratic side of the company…he didn’t feel much like stopping him. Every time he mentioned Obadiah’s name, Peter would imperceptibly tense up and change the subject. It was suspicious, but Tony tried to write it all off as a mutual dislike between the men.  After all, when Tony’s presence had finally been demanded in the office, he’d taken Peter with him to show him around the company…and Obie had been less than welcoming to the young man.

Dinner was mostly delivery, eaten in front of the television, the two men seated closely together on the sofa or the floor in front of the coffee table.  Peter had a deep appreciation for cinema, one that Tony found both endearing and a little obnoxious every time he referred to a recent release as a ‘really old movie.’  “You’re going to be a really sexy corpse if you say that one more time, Peter.”

Peter gave Tony a sidelong glance attempting an innocent smile and a dismissive shrug.  “You’re the one who calls my Tony ‘Old Man’ whenever you’re referring to him.”

Tony felt his jaw clench ever so slightly at Peter’s choice of words.  He sucked in a slow breath through his nose, letting it escape in a sigh as he pushed the nearly empty Chinese takeout container away.  Suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.  “You know, from what little you’ve told me about the guy…I don’t get why you still think he was ever ‘yours’.”

Peter froze, staring down at his own food.  Perhaps Tony had said too much.  He wasn’t jealous of the guy and he hardly wanted Peter to think he was.  There was just some part of him that was very frustrated by Peter always referring to the Old Man as ‘his Tony’.  “No…yeah…you’re right.  He’s not mine.  Never was.  He’s just…just Mr. Stark.  I won’t call him ‘my Tony’ anymore.  I’m sorry…if it…you know.”

Fuck.

The kid even knew him well enough not to go any further with his apology or his excuses.  Tony had never imagined how amazingly frustrating it would be to have someone like Peter around.  No, not someone like Peter.  Peter. There couldn’t be anyone else like Peter, not in all of time and space.

—

“What’s this?”  Peter had been rooting around in Tony’s drawers trying to find a spare tube of lubricant.  They were out, something he’d only just discovered when he was trying to prepare to seduce the older man when he finished with his late-night conference call with the Japanese investors.  Instead of finding spare lube, he’d stumbled upon a worn children’s chapter book tucked away in the bottom drawer of Tony’s bedside table.

Tony froze inside the doorway.  His face was unreadable, but there was a hint of something uncomfortable in his dark eyes.  “A book.”

“Yeah, I figured that part out.  I mean…why do you have it?”

“It was a gift.”

“From?”

“My mother.”

“Oh.”  Peter’s hand fell to his lap, still holding onto the book.  Suddenly, he felt bad about bringing it up.  Although they had both lost their parents, it was something neither of them had talked about to any profound extent.  Peter barely remembered his parents, and for Tony that loss was only a few years old.  Peter could sympathize and avoided the topic unless Tony brought it up.  He felt the mattress shift as Tony sat down beside him.  The billionaire was staring at his hands, remarkably quiet for someone who always enjoyed talking so much.  “You don’t have to say anything else.”  Peter felt the need to make sure Tony knew he was all right with the silence.  “I…I understand.”

Tony nodded his head slowly.  “Yeah, Beautiful, I know you understand…That’s why…”  He fell silent, his words cut off by a melodramatic sigh.  “She gave it to me when I was little.  It was my favorite book growing up.”

Peter looked down at the battered dust jacket and smiled.  The Story of King Arthur and His Knights by Howard Pyle.  “This makes so much sense.”  It added a whole new layer to Iron Man that Peter had never even considered.  He could just imagine a tiny Tony Stark pretending to be a knight…only to grow up and save the universe as a futuristic knight of sorts.  

“Oh yeah?”  Tony turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, wondering at what part of his future could have anything to do with a book about the Round Table and chivalry.  “Well, I’m glad.  I guess.”  He was quiet again for several seconds before he reached out to gingerly take the book from Peter’s hands and begin leafing through it.  “When my mother wasn’t busy being a trophy wife, dragged off by my father to all corners of the world…she’d always come to my room to read me one of these.  Sometimes it was the only time I got to spend with her.  Being raised by nannies isn’t all that Hollywood makes it out to be.”  He grimaced, closing the book again.  “I loved those story times.  Everything about them.  Falling asleep to the sound of reading.  Dreaming about the stories.  Spent most of my very limited innocent years playing Knight and pretending to be a hero.  Then my father decided I was too soft, that I need to learn to be more independent.  Shipped me off to boarding school a half a world away when I was seven and I only saw my parents on holidays after that.  If I was lucky.  I don’t think we ever actually finished reading that book…”

Peter’s throat felt tight as he swallowed, lifting a hand to rub at his eye self consciously, attempting to wipe away the dampness there before Tony saw it.  

Only he did.

Peter could tell by the way Tony’s expression seemed to soften, the way he stared at Peter as if he was only just seeing him for the first time.  The teenager tried to smile, rubbing at his eyes again before Tony reached out to capture his wrists, gently pull his hands away from his face and bridge the distance between them.

Peter could never remember Tony kissing him quite so gently before.  There was a tenderness to the brush of lips that took the young man’s breath away.  When Tony dropped his wrist and lifted a hand to gently stroke the side of Peter’s face, the boy felt tingly all over.  “Umm…we’re…we’re out of lube.”

Tony paused, ceasing the gentle succession of feather soft kisses he’d been pressing to Peter’s lips as he stroked his cheek with a calloused thumb.  A little laugh escaped him and he rested his forehead against Peter’s.  “Way to kill the mood, Parker.”

“I’m sorry!  We could…I don’t know…go without it?”

“Nah, we’ll get some tomorrow.  Tonight…let’s try something else tonight.”

Peter’s gaze was wary, but he nodded, afraid of what sexual escapades they might be about to embark on…right up until the moment Tony made himself comfortable in the bed and pulled Peter into his side.  Wait.  Was Tony Stark actually cuddling?  On purpose?  Of his own choice?  Instead of sex?  Without sex?  Cuddling?   Peter couldn’t help himself, he was grinning like a fool and only too happy to snuggle in as close to Tony as he was allowed.

“What knight did you pretend to be?”

“What?” Tony’s words were muffled by his position, nose buried in Peter’s chestnut curls.  “What knight…Arthur, of course.  Had to be the king, didn’t I?  My ego wouldn’t tolerate anything less.  Why?  Which knight do you think I am?”

Peter considered this for several minutes, running his fingers on a slow track up and down Tony’s clothed chest.  “Lancelot.  I think you’re way more a Lancelot.  Flashy and sexy.  The best knight, but also…controversial and tragic.”

Tony pulled back enough to look at him. “Damn, kid, you make me really curious about my life between now and then.  What the hell happens to me?  Who the hell is this Old Man, anyway?”

“Earth’s greatest defender.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”  The silence lingered between them, but it wasn’t a bad quiet.  Peter was happy to rest in the comfort of Tony’s arm, tucked against his side, head resting on his chest.  It was Tony who finally broke the silence in the most unexpected of ways.  “Do we start at the beginning or where my mother and I last left off?” He held up the book with his free hand.

Peter just stared at him in awe.  Was he actually suggesting what Peter thought he was suggesting?  Somehow, the idea of cuddling with Tony in his bed reading his favorite book, a gift from his dead mother, a book he’d abandoned along with his innocence well over a decade ago…was the most intimate thing Peter had ever heard. He felt so humbled, so honored, so happy, that he was blinking tears out of his eyes again. “Better start at the beginning.  I don’t think the story of King Arthur has a happy ending.”

“The best stories never do, Sweetheart.”

—

“We’re going to dinner.”

Peter looked up from the circuit board he was bent over, setting it aside to look at Tony incredulously.  “We’re what?”

“We’re going out.  We’ve been cooped up inside for weeks.  It’s time I took you somewhere nice.  So…go shower, change, whatever.  We’re going to my favorite restaurant.”

Peter couldn’t even try to hide his delight at the prospect.  They were going on an actual date.  If he’d thought that periodic cuddles and stories with Tony were wonderful, than a dinner date with the man of his dreams was more than he’d ever hoped for.  He didn’t even care if Tony saw him running to their room to shower and change.

After a little less than an hour, Peter was pleased with the way he looked.  He’d tried to tame his curls and tie his tie just right.  The suit Jarvis had picked up for him ‘just in case’ he happened to need it was precisely the right size.  Then again, with Jarvis, everything was always perfect.  Peter had never thought that the AI would come up short in comparison to the real man.  Even Vision had nothing on this guy.

At last, content and more than ready for dinner, he decided to leave the master bath and go in search of Tony who he discovered entering the bedroom in search of him.

The two men froze in their respective doorways, speaking simultaneously in mirrored exclamations of surprise and indignation.  “What are you wearing?”

A long pause.

“You said you were taking me to dinner.”  Peter looked down at the suit and tie he’d donned, suddenly feeling very self conscious about his choice of attire compared to the jeans and band t-shirt Tony was wearing.

“Where exactly did you think we were eating, Tavern on the Green?”

“I mean…you’re a billionaire.”

“So that means I eat nothing but cavier for every meal then, huh?”

Peter looked genuinely puzzled.  “Don’t you?”

Tony crossed his arms and regarded the younger man with an eyebrow raised questioningly.  “You claim to know me so well, Pete.  What’s my favorite food?  Hm? Is it Foie Gras?”

Another long pause.  “No, its Cheeseburgers.”

“Bravo!”  Tony gave Peter an over-exaggerated round of applause.  “There’s the boy genius I know and love!”

The words hung between them for several seconds as both men realized what he’d said, albeit accidentally.  Peter’s face broke out in a slow grin that very nearly split his head in two, while for the first time in recorded history, Peter assumed, Tony actually blushed.  He cleared his throat, opened his mouth to speak, and remained speechless.  Another first for the billionaire by Peter’s estimation.

“No fair taking it back.”  Peter’s warning was spoken so softly that it barely carried to Tony’s ears.  The billionaire sucked in a slow breath and shrugged as if to say that he had no intention of taking it back, or acknowledging that it had ever happened.

“You’re not changing your clothes, Kid.  You’re eating in the suit.  Come on.  I’m hungry and I’m tired of waiting.”

“No, but…I don’t want to eat cheeseburgers in a suit, Tony.  I’ll look stupid.”  Peter’s high-pitched pleading echoed around them as they made their way through the penthouse and finally to the garage.  Tony sauntered to one of his cars, smirking at the kid as he slid into the driver’s seat.  

“Get in or starve, Beautiful.”

“Mr. Jarvis would never let me starve.”

“Did I say you were going to be starving for food, Beautiful?”  Tony’s gaze dipped meaningfully and Peter turned a deep shade of red.  

“Yeah, okay…I guess…I guess I can eat a cheeseburger in a suit.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Peter fidgeted the whole ride, feeling incredibly self conscious and over dressed.  More so when he saw where they were going to be eating.  Tony led the way into the tiny diner, greeting the middle-aged server and the line cook visible through a small pass-through into the kitchen.  He knew their names.  Apparently, he was a regular.

“You look pretty young to be a lawyer.”

Peter looked up at the woman whose name was apparently ‘Lorraine’.  “Oh no, I’m…I’m not a lawyer.”

“You don’t say…never see men in here in a suit unless they’re lawyers.  You just a fancy dresser, then, huh?”

“Um…yeah?”  Peter glanced down at the napkin wrapped silverware she’d placed in front of him and smirked at the sight of what appeared to be grease on the spoon.  Good thing he didn’t need silverware to eat a burger.

“What are you and your fancy man getting today, Tony?”

Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter, gesturing to the menu.  Peter, however, just shook his head.  “Just…double whatever you usually get.”

“Well, Lorraine, you heard the man.”

“Hey, Charlie, you hear all that?  I need two Dead Cows wearing Yellow Blankets, two orders of Frog Sticks and we need ‘em Stark Naked.”

Peter couldn’t help but snort as he tried to hold in his laughter.

“Be right back with the shakes, Dear.”  Lorraine departed the table with a wink, unused menus stashed under her arm.

Peter took the time to look around the diner now that they were alone.  It was old, but despite the literal greasy spoon, appeared to be clean.  There were a few other diners, but everyone seemed to be minding their own business.  Every booth had a tiny juke box sitting against the wall, and with nothing else to look at, Peter was happy to slide along the seat and take a closer look at the music selection.  “Oh wow, there’s some great really old music on this thing, did you bring change?”

“Of course.”  Tony laughed.  “Gotta have quarters for the jukebox and the pinball.  It’s part of the place’s charm.”

“There’s pinball, too!”  Peter craned his neck to find the game.

“It’s by the bathrooms.  I’ll challenge you to a few games after we eat.  Only fair warning you though, Beautiful, I’ve had the High Score on it for well over a year.”

“That’s really going to suck for you when I beat you tonight, then.”  

The burgers were surprisingly good.  Juicy, covered in gooey melted cheese, grilled onions, lettuce, pickle, tomato and some kind of ‘special sauce’ that Peter swore was just ketchup, mustard and mayo mixed together.  The milkshakes were thick, the fries were salty, and Peter was quick to declare it his new favorite burger joint in New York.  He even managed to beat Tony’s high score on pinball and preened with pride the entire way home while he listened to Tony grumble about a promised re-match.

As it turned out, the diner became a familiar haunt for them.  Several times a week after working late in the lab, they’d wind up in ‘their’ booth.  While they started out on opposite sides, after a couple of weeks, Tony just began sliding into the seat beside Peter, settling an arm around his shoulders, speaking softly into his ear, stealing french fries from his plate.  

—

Tony couldn’t believe that he had to hear about Peter’s bithday from Jarvis.  That hurt.  Far more than it should have.  The butler had shared the somewhat troubling exchange in which Peter had debated whether it was possible to have a birthday before someone was officially born.  Jarvis now thought Peter was utterly insane, but still seemed to like the kid.  It was impossible not to.

What did you do for your lover on his pre-Birthday?  They couldn’t have a party.  Peter had no one to invite and that was just going to be depressing.  He couldn’t give Peter a physical gift because he’d never be able to take it with him when he left.   If Tony ever let him leave, anyway.  A trip was out of the question, Peter would balk about being away from the Nullifier for that long.  He could convince the boy to take a few hours off, but more than a day…that was never going to happen.  Never mind that they’d already been at the job of repairing it for months.

The answer came to him quite unexpectedly, but it really was perfect.  It was going to be expensive.  It was going to take time, but Tony had both.

August tenth, after breakfast, Tony convinced Peter to take the morning off, though he said nothing about Peter’s birthday.  Not yet.  Peter didn’t suspect anything until Tony pulled his sports car into a parking spot at a lot for Forest Park in Queens.  Only then did the teenager pivot in his seat to fix Tony with a questioning look.  His confusion clear on his face.

“Happy B-day Peter!”

Peter just stared at him.  “Uh…thanks.  I guess.”

He clearly had no idea why Tony had brought him to Forest Park, but that was all going to become clear in a moment.  “I couldn’t think of what to do to make this special.  Thought a lot about it.  Had a lot of crazy ideas.  Settled on this one.  So…Peter, are you ready to meet your very much alive and breathing parents?”

If Peter looked surprised now, Tony was sure that finding out they were S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents was going to be a real Kodak moment.

[luxusnoname]

Studies of the Heart (Even x Braig)

Summary: Even had never been in love before. Maybe there was some irony in the fact that one who was researching the heart hadn't experienced one of its most powerful emotions. That is, until Braig showed up. The first fic in a collection of drabbles ranging from pre-BBS to post-KH3.

Characters/Pairings: Even/Braig, mentions of the other Apprentices

Rating: T (for like one swear word)

Word Count: 2.3k

Author’s Note: *slides onto home plate at the last second* It’s only 11pm in my time zone so t e c h n i c a l l y still Xigvex day! Not that anyone else really ships these two, but I’m hoping to change that eventually. This is set in an AU of sorts that disregards the revelations in KH3′s epilogue, and this particular bit takes place before BBS so no spoilers here! Enjoy ^^

~~~

Studies of the Heart

When Even walked into the lab in the morning, there were a great many things he expected to find.

He expected the comforting hum of machinery that served as the background noise to his research. He expected an organized stack of notes atop his workspace, exactly where he left them the night before. He expected the coffee pot to have a fresh brew ready and waiting for him.

The one thing he didn't expect was a certain marksman waiting to prank him, standing upside down in the air and paying no mind whatsoever to the laws of gravity. It shouldn't have come as a surprise really, since the man wasn't the sort to obey rules. Nor was he the sort of man to think things like this through. This last piece is especially important, because he wasn't expecting his victim to be preoccupied with reading a textbook that morning as he entered the lab.

So, it came as a great shock to both men when Even turned the corner and, not two steps into the room, collided with the unexpected obstacle that was Braig's dense skull.

Even flailed and dropped his book, the tome hitting the floor with a dull thud. However, it was not quite as spectacular as the thud made by Braig, who had lost concentration and dropped to the ground like a particularly bothersome sack of potatoes. Said potato sack was grumbling curses under his breath as he clutched his newfound bloody nose.

Even was faring no better, a hiss of pain accompanying his usual shrill tone as he massaged his forehead. "What on earth were you doing there?"

Braig gave a halfhearted chuckle from his position on the ground, voice muffled beneath his glove. "Well, was tryin' to spook ya but obviously that didn't work out."

"Don't you have duties you should be performing elsewhere?"

"As if. ‘Sides, who's to say my first duty of the day wasn't to test your alertness?"

Even narrowed his eyes at the man who was still laying on the ground - it was really quite a pathetic scene. "I highly doubt that." And with that, he picked up his book and stepped over Braig.

"C'mon, I don't even get a hand up?" He stretched his arm out toward the scientist but dropped it with a sigh when it was pointedly ignored.

Instead, Even began digging through his supply cabinet and mumbling to himself. Honestly, what a child. Able to wield space and gravity magic and he uses it to prank people. Surely that power could be put to much better use. And his bitterness over this was not in any way related to him being Braig's primary target, thank you very much.

But as much as he liked to complain, the pranks were never actively harmful. He suspected they were the man’s way of socializing in some twisted sense. At any rate, Even had grown accustomed to his presence over the years and his grumbling was really done out of habit than any actual contempt for the man. Braig was a fool, but he was an apprentice to Lord Ansem the same as the rest of them, so he was their fool.

“Got any gauze in there?”

Even startled as the sharpshooter warped next to him, causing him to nearly knock over a stack of glassware. “Heavens Braig, would you give me a moment? That’s what I’m looking for.”

“Anticipating my needs? My hero.” He brought the back of his free hand up to his forehead as if he were a damsel in distress, but his shit-eating grin was far from innocent.

Even didn’t grace this with a response. Instead, when he found the gauze, he shoved it into Braig’s hand and stalked back toward his workspace.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down to review his notes from the previous day, elbow propped up on the desk and fist under his chin. One particular subject had responded to the stimuli while another had not, and careful testing was necessary to determine if it any external variables had snuck their way into the experiment. He absently chewed the tip of his pen.

As he pondered the matter, the surface beneath him shifted with a groan and he nearly faceplanted as his elbow slipped. Looking up, he saw that Braig had hoisted himself up onto the desk, nursing his own cup of coffee.

Pray though he might that the interruptions would end there, he knew he couldn’t be so lucky.

“So, Lord Ansem did actually send me to check up on you this morning, believe it or not. Something about some science mumbo jumbo you’re working on?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes returning to his notes. “Yes, that is what we do around here, for lack of better words I suppose.”

Braig waved his hand. “Eh, you know I don’t care for the finer details. He just wants a brief report written up so I can deliver it to him asap. He’ll be joining you this evening.”

“And I suppose you’re going to wait here while I compose it?”

“Of course. But don’t you worry about me,” he said with a glint in his eye as he jumped down. “I can find some way to entertain myself in the meantime.”

“Yes, and that’s exactly what I was afraid of,” Even grumbled as he pulled a fresh sheet of paper out of a supply drawer to transcribe his notes onto.

Just as he was about to shut the drawer, he caught his reflection in a small mirror. His attention was immediately drawn to his forehead, which now bore a small but slowly growing reddish mark. Curses. No doubt he’d be sporting a lovely bruise for a week or more thanks to his companion.

As if on cue, there was a crash of metal on tile from deeper in the lab and the marksman threw his hands up in a gesture that was supposed to imply innocence. Even didn’t buy it. But at least Braig had the good sense to look sheepish about it.

~~~

Contrary to popular belief, Even did make it out of the lab on occasion, rare though it might be. His walks usually took him to the fountains in the courtyard. They were a sight to behold and one of the many wonders of Radiant Garden. If he ever hit a stumbling block in his research, spending time pondering there usually managed to provide some solution or new angle to look at a problem from.

Today happened to be one of those frustrating days, and the weather was pleasant enough for a stroll. So he found himself at the fountain, mulling over various disproven hypothesis and how they could be improved. He was on the verge of a breakthrough when a foreign object was thrust in front of his face. A bar of sea salt ice cream, to be exact.

He turned to the owner and of course it was none other than Braig, who shook it playfully in his face. “Apology ice cream?”

“Apology? What for?”

“For this morning.”

Ah, of course. Even eyed the proffered gift warily. The treat itself didn’t pose any threat, but a genuine gesture from Braig was rare, so forgive him for being skeptical.

Gloved hand wiggled the bar yet again. “C’mon, I know you aren’t just eating them for the kid’s benefit.”

A rare smile graced Even’s features at the mention of Ienzo, Lord Ansem’s brilliant young protégé. Once he deemed it safe, he accepted the ice cream with a small nod and sat on the nearby bench. Braig followed suit, wasting no time in eating his. And proceeding to talk with a mouthful, as expected.

“Speaking of Ienzo, I don’t know what you and Ansem have done to that kid, but he has absolutely no concept of fun,” Braig said as he jabbed his ice cream in an accusatory fashion. “I asked him if he’d wanna try sniping an apple that was dangling in a tree just above Dilan and y’know what he said?”

“He said no,” Even deadpanned.

“He said no! Can you imagine? Passing up an opportunity like that?”

Even took a bite of his ice cream as he mulled over his response. “I don’t know Braig, can I imagine being a mature individual with a healthy respect for my peers? It is rather difficult.”

Braig grinned and raised an eyebrow. “Was that sarcasm? And here this whole time I thought you were just a stick in the mud, Ev.”

He opened his mouth to respond but the words died on his lips. Ev. In all the years that Braig had been at the castle, he had never called him that before. And Even wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it. On one hand, it was infuriatingly informal. But on the other, it suggested that the man thought highly enough of him to consider him a friend. Maybe it even held a degree of affection.

Not that it mattered to him, of course. He just wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Speechless? Man, I really did give you a good knock on the noggin, didn’t I?”

Before Even could process what was happening, Braig brought a hand up to his forehead, thumb gently swiping over the blossoming bruise. He studied it for a moment before his dark eyes met Even’s, his expression unreadable but unusually sincere. Had he ever truly looked at the man’s eyes like this before, close enough to notice how the irises were a chestnut brown in the sunlight?

Despite himself, Even felt a blush beginning to work its way up his neck at the surprisingly vulnerable eye contact. He turned away and cleared his throat. “If I remember correctly, you got a bloody nose out of the affair, so I’d say we’re about even.”

“Huh. S’pose we are.”

Both men fell silent at that, content to finish their ice cream in amicable peace. His mind went back to the day that Braig was discovered lurking on the grounds. Dilan and Aeleus were patrolling the gardens that morning when the former spotted him. Even had only heard stories of the event, but they brought him great joy regardless.

Apparently when Dilan moved to apprehend him, Braig had warped away, sticking his leg through a portal to trip the larger man from a safe distance. Doubled over with laughter at his own cleverness, he didn’t notice Aeleus behind him. One swift pommel to the back of his head and he was down for the count.

They took him to Lord Ansem, who was intrigued by his spatial powers and invited him to stay at the castle. His unique control over gravity, coupled with excellent marksmanship, made him an excellent candidate for a guard. Soon after, he became an apprentice much like Dilan and Aeleus had.

Returning to the present, he stole a glance at Braig out of the corner of his eye. The man appeared to be deep in contemplation himself, brow furrowed and empty ice cream stick balanced between his teeth. Even may mock his intelligence, but he suspected he was far more thoughtful and observant than one might assume.

After a few moments, a hand clapped his shoulder and squeezed. “Welp, I better get going now. Some of us have work to do,” Braig added with an infuriating wink before he withdrew his hand and meandered off.

Even stammered as he felt heat rise to his cheeks. Where had that reaction come from?

Surely it was because the man had the nerve to suggest he was slacking off. Surely. It wasn't anything else. It wasn’t because of that wink or that lazy, crooked smirk. Or the way his fingertips had lingered on his shoulder, leaving ghost sensations in the path they had traced over. He just had to get his mind on something else, anything else.

The empty ice cream stick in his hands suddenly became of great interest to him.

~~~

It was shortly after that when Even began noticing little things about Braig, details that had somehow escaped him over the years. Like how the guard uniform’s square shoulders sloped on his thin frame. How his lopsided grin caused the corner of one eye to crinkle. The way he restlessly swung his legs when he was sitting on the lab table that had to be disinfected every time he visited without fail.

And while Braig’s interruptions were almost always pointless and asking him to refrain from visiting the lab would certainly increase his productivity, he never brought himself to ask. He had spent more time pondering this than he cared to admit.

Even had never been in love before. Maybe there was some irony in the fact that one who was researching the heart hadn't experienced one of its most powerful emotions. He liked to believe it was because of the high standards he held not only for himself, but also those he chose to share his company with.

Braig fell short of these standards by a laughably large margin. He was loud, obnoxious, impulsive, childish, and not nearly as clever as he thought himself to be. None of these traits were even remotely close to ideal. But at the same time, there was some sort of affection there, wasn't there?

So maybe he wasn't in love with him. Developing a crush, possibly. He discarded that thought quickly, however, as the word ‘crush’ made him cringe. Crushes were for juveniles, teenagers acting on their physical attraction. Braig might be somewhat handsome, he supposed, with his sharp cheekbones and lean figure. But that was irrelevant. All of this terminology and categorization of his feelings was irrelevant in Even’s mind.

In the end, it didn’t matter what he called it. It was there, and much like the man himself, he just had to deal with it.

And surprisingly, this didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would.

[dukesmemior-blog]

Reginald Johnson

Professor Robert Lunday

English 1301

June 16, 2019

Rising from Submersion of Provocation

[Preface]

Life is anything but simple and this is often a lesson learned during adulthood. As a child many times one cannot evaluate the complexity of the world we live in due to numerous factors. Innocence serves as a child's blessing but can also serve as a burden when faced with an unusual situation and having to decipher fact from fiction. I was faced with many situations early in life that unfortunately stripped me of my innocence leaving me to swim in a pool of provocation and subjectivity. Unprepared, unequipped, and unaware I was unable to prevent the commencement of drowning but through trial, error, and perseverance I was able to retrieve myself from a place and build a great man in the process.

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Boom! My heart starts to race as fear overcomes me. The hairs on my arms are standing at attention as if my Spidey senses are tingling. “Please stop, Mouse!” “Duke, help me!” “AHHHHH! Please stop, please, stop, please!” The alarming scream of desperation sent chills down my spine; she was being brutally beaten. Unable save herself she reluctantly prompted my help in her emancipation. Little did she know, I an 8-year-old boy, held more fear in my heart of her abuser than she probably did, I was frozen. Stuck in between the innate response to help a person in distress and the fear of the ramifications that followed if I proceeded, I stood there, stiff. The hallway was like a tunnel cold, hard, and imperfect recently stripped of carpet, leaving behind little patches of padding and spike strips for reimplantation, I was uncertain. “Where you think you goin-! Get back in this room!” Her abuser filled with adrenalin rolled and leaped out of his chair to tackle the girl before she could escape the hallway. Tussling in efforts to regain her freedom the young girl was in fight or flight mode. Her tussle wasn’t the type of tussle you’d expect granted her dire situation, it was preserved in a way as if she didn’t want to escape, as if she was scared to defend herself.

The moment the girl and I locked eyes we could see the dread on each other’s face we were being abused and held captive with no means of escape. “Duke! Help me boy”, this time I acted without hesitation, with haste, with a sense of urgency. I wasn’t prompted by desperation; I was commanded by authority! As I engaged in the tussle I yelled to my uncle, “Grab her legs, Unk I have her arms”, as I assisted in the assault of this young woman. My natural being was tapped out and the boy my uncle was breeding was fully engaged. We tussled and fought as the energy that I previously witnessed from the woman amplified. Upon my engagement, in opposition to her initial request for my help, she exhibited a feeling of betrayal and wanted to hurt me for this inconceivable act. All parties involved were now fully engaged as if we all had a shot of caffeine-laced epinephrine and I don’t think anyone could truly conceive the true damage that we were all adversely causing ourselves. We fought without care because this had become personal to all. My uncle and I dragged the woman back into the room after the hard-fought tussle in the hallway. This woman was strong, her levels seemed to constantly rise like a super Saiyan from a Dragon Ball Z cartoon. I saw her forehead swell; her veins were pressurized she moved like she was condemned, and we were performing an exorcism. She tossed from wall to wall, her eyes were bloodshot as I tried to distinguish her sweat from tears. Her abuser was a different type of demon and no matter what she did his strength engulfed every ounce of her energy.

“Get out of here and close the door!” As I ran down the hallway to my shared dungeon, I felt horrible. I started to calm down and regain my composure as a rush of empathy and then shame overcame me, but I was unable to exhibit my true emotions. Knowing that if I shed a tear, cried aloud, or showed any form of negative emotion that I’d be the next victim and wearing the title of a “Punk” wasn’t acceptable. In my house, that title carried heavy negative weight and disallowed you any form of respect and acceptance which causes a lifetime of pain and anguish. Sitting upon my futon I listened as the screams worsened becoming louder and viler than before and, at this moment, I wasn’t scared. My heart was at ease and I knew that I was mentally damaged, caged, and there was no changing it.

This was the account of an innocent young boy who was unknowingly being prepared to engage in an act that would strip him of his innocence changing his life forever. I was unknowingly programmed to act immediately when this figure spoke and during that moment, I was in a state of being completely controlled. You see, as a child, my conception of life was very distorted. I thought I saw things through my own lens but in actuality, I viewed everything from the perspective of my uncle who I thought of as a man. In life the Alpha male often rules as everyone else sits aside away from his raft, my uncle was an Alpha. I have come to realize that there are different forms of Alpha, men that hold themselves in high regard below no other but refuse to exhibit their strength unless necessary. There are those who thrive on this energy and cannot conceal it for a moment which causes everyone around them to either challenge it or submit and this is where the problem lies. For a long time, I walked around causing trouble and pain thinking that I was becoming a man through my actions though it didn’t feel natural. It wasn’t until I was able to step from under my uncle, gain my independence, and learn life when I realized that I am a natural Alpha but my form of expression is different. I’m not the problem, I’m the solution and this is what it truly is to be a man.

Mouse; my best friend, my mentor, my inspiration, my uncle, the abuser, a Jack of All Trades and Master of None, was my teacher and my lessons weren’t structured. I had to learn on the fly and there were no notes. See, Mouse had a rough childhood. He became the oldest of 3 that once was 4 before the accidental death of his brother. Wearing his brothers’ blood on his hands, imprisonment since a juvenile, abuse, pressure, misguidance, and anger is what led him to become a cold-blooded man. His plight was unfortunate, nonetheless, his early adaptation proved successful within his chaotic community. He utilized his negatives to create his positive. Becoming the man in your section was a prideful feat where he was from, having the ability to translate that positioning across many different sections served as his evolution into true manhood. Money, power, respect the tokens of kings which Mouse held near and dear, he was as the top of the game and seemed invincible, until tragedy struck.  A traumatic car accident stripped him of his newfound identity by taking his ability to walk. Mouse had become partially physically paralyzed and completely mentally paralyzed.

September 23, 1993, I was born into the world. Thinking back on the stories my mother told me she vividly broke down the details of my birth. My mother carefully holding me as I cried, she was asked “what’s his name” and she was uncertain. Sitting aside her bed throughout the entire birth consoling her was her now oldest brother who was once her second brother, Mouse. Mouse had a name picked out when he received the news of conception and he couldn’t wait for this moment to disclose his wishes, wishes that would help him with closure, wishes that would heal. “Sis, name him after our big brother.” Hearing these words from mouse made it very clear what the name of her first child would be. These words evoked strong emotions causing laughter and tears as if it was destiny. Knock, Knock. May I come in, its Mrs. Patterson again here to see if you needed more time picking a name for the baby. “No ma’am, I’m ready. His name will be Reginald Stephon Johnson!” Regal and full of the essence I had been blessed with an angel and destined for a bountiful life of greatness.

My mother often tells me stories of my early days, the good time that I can’t recollect myself. My grandmother hadn’t laid eyes on me until this moment, “OMG! He looks so much like his uncle Reggie it's crazy.” It was as if she was looking at her late son in the flesh by the way she gazed in awe upon my family features. Everyone adored me as if I were some kind of doll that brought about the feeling of joy when you held me. For my mom it was scary; for my uncle it was perfect. Uncle Reggie was known as the sweetheart and protector all in one. Everyone had nothing but positive memories of his existence making it seem as though he was heaven-sent. Little did I know that I also served as a purpose, I was the remedy to the tragedy my family faced. After the loss of Uncle Reggie, my families were a broken people and my existence was like the glue that would hold them together as they fixed one another and became whole--once again a true family.

See being awarded such a title was more than just the casual blessing of distinction from others, this name held weight and cam with great responsibility. I carried an invisible burden that everyone but myself could utilize but me but this wasn’t an unfortunate situation for me, it was a blessing. The ability of enjoying the fruit of one who served as a remedy without the struggle that typically followed only brought about more joy a fulfillment an I felt whole within my family. This energy assisted in my development mentally and emotionally as I grew more and more happy, intelligent, proud, and compassionate through all the positive love I received. As an adult, my name continues to carry weight for those in my family and still serves them fulfillment as they recount the memories of my late uncle when in my presence. I now have come to understand the strength within my title, and it serves me well during times of insecurity or doubt. My name is less common and when introduced to peers I receive positive remarks in the regards such as, “Your name is very proper, regal if I might say.” My name provides me with a sense of honor and respect and as a man, I think that it can serve no better purpose.

My early childhood was (from what I can remember and the stories that I’ve been told) an absolute fairytale. I was the only child, the baby in the family, meaning that all of the attention and energy was on me. I hold nothing but happy memories of my early childhood: The holidays were awesome, family gatherings still existed, and I lived in a two-parent household while also remaining the prince of my grandparent’s kingdom. Life was great without complaint until my mom and stepfather decided to have more kids. This is when things started to slowly take a turn for the worse. I soon would experience the extreme effects of the mental, physical, and emotional trauma of which I had no idea even existed or let alone knew how to prepare and defend myself.

We were a perfect family in my eyes. One baby and then the addition of twins one year later. My siblings were angels, however, the death of one of my twin siblings crushed us all and to me seemed like it tore my parents apart more than it brought them together. They were absolute blessings just as I was but for us as a unit couldn’t prevent our parents from making very selfish decisions. Boom! “Get out of my house!” these are the arguments and fights between our parents that would wake my siblings and me during the night. Next, both our mother and father would storm into our room disputing if we would be leaving with one or staying which ultimately was nothing more than a final ploy to tip the scales of the argument in ones favor rather than true concern about our well-being. My fairy tale was dwindling in front of my eyes and my brothers, having yet to truly encompass such a feeling we're being taken through the trauma that they viewed as normal.

The trauma was anything but temporary and it was forced upon us without true warning and explanation, maybe our parents were ignorant of the depth of destruction they were causing. It’s possible that they stood in the middle of a tunneled mind state where they could only process their personal interests due to the emotions involved coupled with their adolescence. My mother was 15 years old at the time of my conception and she had recently endured the trauma of my grandparents getting a divorce after being together with her entire life and this affected her tremendously. She was ill-prepared for the life of adulthood in which she was hastily granted so she chose to respond with anger and maleficence by leading a life of deviance in revolt to everything her parents upheld. In her process of teaching them a lesson about pain and deceit she mistakenly conceived her first child and this to her was her punishment for the spiteful actions she engaged in and a lesson in the reality of such moves. At war with my grandparents, my mother was poorly cared for during that pregnancy as she lacked the knowledge and resources to ensure positive care for her and the baby, she was subjected to the will of my grandparents to facilitate her care and they had a point to prove. My mother was completely deflated at the news of her losing her first child and contrary to a popular opinion so were my grandparents and they understood that things had been taken too far and needed immediate reparations.

Reparations had taken full effect in my family from both parties and there was love in the household, my father arrived at the pinnacle of this movement and helped change my family’s life forever. My birth was explained to me as the cherry on top of the cake as I became the centerpiece of the family and a reason for continued love and unity. My parents, though very young at the time, set out to never allow me a life of turmoil and pain by committing to one another and focusing on building an unbreakable bond with time and effort. Promises are sometimes broken, and bonds torn in ways that can’t be mended was the typical summary of a relationship split where I’m from and my mother and father were critically torn but this tear was far from typical. My father was sentenced to 35 years to life in prison for murder shortly after my conception ending the covenant and subjecting my mother to a potential life of single parenthood and me his unborn child to the unfortunate of a bastardized child. Humans are forgiving beings, it is within our nature to forgive as it brings a feeling of peace upon our souls when we are free of burden and full of joy, my family finally understood that.

Similar to a glass sculpture my mother had climbed from the fire a bundle of indistinguishable greatness until she chose to mold herself with the experiences and hardships into a very hard sculpture of beauty that was hard to break. My mother made good on a bad situation and transformed our lives for the better on her own without me noticing any flaw or fault in her progression. All good things come to an end and those too good to be true come sooner and more aggressively, for the first time in life I was traumatized. My mother’s relationship with my step father came with many blessings but also brought along the largest burden when my brothers and I lost our father to prison and our mother to a broken spirit and a search for a second chance at life. My little family had been torn apart and dispersed with me being the odd man out, my mother moved herself and my brothers away and left me under the care of my grandparents and this is where the I learned some of the most valuable lessons. This is the place where I unknowingly developed my heaviest depression, a deep traumatic scar, and a lesson on what the world really holds and how demons can lurk within.

I today stand as a man of immense morality with a true sense of respect and honesty, I work hard for the things I want and own and I cherish every moment without the fear of deprivation or deceit. These trials have become my triumph in life as I am presented with new plights, I am able to adapt well and overcome. Experiencing things like abuse, neglect, and depravity unnoticeably allowed me to develop a very thick skin and the ability to recreate myself in a positive image. My uncle Mouse was the best and worst thing to happen in my life. The lessons I learned from him will forever fuel my ambition while also keeping me tamed and conscious of the way I treat others. I refuse to allow my past to stifle my present or my future and I owe this determination to surviving the pool of provocation.

[noneofeverything]

Self worth equations. A poorly thought out essay with no real conclusion.

I’ve made a lot of progress this past year and come to some realisations about myself and what I believe lies at the core of my problems. This is not to address the causes of my problems but to try and just recognise them for what they are. This is a very positive post but it might feel quite negative in places. Just trust that it’s not.

In the past I’ve described myself as a person that has issues about rejection. When I feel rejected or abandoned, no matter the form it takes I feel like I take a serious hit to my self worth. I see myself and my value in terms of how I imagine other people see me, and as such have allowed my ideas about what I believe people want drive how I act and respond. And I’ve acted like rejection, and avoiding it, is the key to defending what value I feel like I have.

At the core of the issue is how I feel about myself. That’s it. And having come to that realisation, or possibly not having come to it but accepting that, it’s become very clear to me that it is a pattern across my life that is quite simple but so deeply ingrained that it’s hard to work against.

I don’t feel that I have any intrinsic value, this is a judgement about myself that I have made on such a regular basis from such an early age that it’s become ingrained in how I think. Not in the abstract sense. In how my neural pathways are laid out through years of devaluing myself as a form of defence. I won’t go into the causes for that, the people that I feel should know do know. And to be quite frank, it doesn’t really matter anymore. The point is that this is something that can actually be unlearned. Which is what I am doing, via mentalisation based therapy (MBT). This link gives a short overview of it https://tavistockandportman.nhs.uk/care-and-treatment/treatments/mentalisation-based-therapy/ but the basic idea is that it develops your skills in thinking about thinking. Which is great for me because I love thinking about thinking.

So describing myself as someone who has issues with rejection is at best simplistic, at worst just kinda wrong. Relationships are important to me, I could very well say that I have issues with relationships and that the bit that causes me functional problems is when I perceive myself as having been rejected. But if I look more closely at relationships what I see is that I use them as a tool to validate my existence. So when relationships go well, I feel good about myself. When I perceive a relationship to be going poorly, I feel badly about myself. It isn’t rejection that is the problem, it’s how I perceive my value.

But it isn’t just relationships that I do this with. Relationships are a key area, humans are social creatures and it’s an important part of our existence, I’d like to be able to pretend I’m not human but I can’t. However, it isn’t the only place that I derive my value from.

For the longest time my career was very important to me, it was a part of my life where I could create value through my own efforts. What does that mean exactly? It means, accepting that I consider myself to have no value, that I thought my work could give me that value. I’m still proud of my work, and it’s something of a relief that I’m quite good at it, if I wasn’t then I would feel really badly about myself. And when things went wrong at work, I would feel profoundly hurt by it. It led to me taking criticism poorly too. And I struggled to work with others. That last part I turned to my advantage, being self sufficient in project work is considered desirable. But I rarely asked for help, even when I really needed it it would take me a very long time to accept that and allow myself to be helped. Why not? Because if someone helped me do something I felt that I lost the sense of value I had gained from my achievements.

These are just a few examples, but this is a constant across a lot of things I did and do. It drives me to be materialistic, that owning the right things (not necessarily the expensive things) can give me value. It drives me to the accumulation of knowledge and skills, not necessarily a bad thing but done for less than healthy reasons. If you want to get really fucking meta about it, it drives me to write personal essays like this, that maybe in showing to people that I understand my internal processes I won’t be seen as irredeemably worthless. And Facebook, just… fuck Facebook.

Before I transitioned these things didn’t cause me much issues. I didn’t have value, I had come to terms with that. I existed in a continuous low level depression that I could never truly be very hurt by anything. But then something happened, as I emerged from that depression I became vulnerable, my sources that I drew my value from became vulnerable.

Relationships became harder and my value became more intrinsically linked to them. My work suffered because any perceived mistake became crippling.

This is where MBT comes in. I have started to learn how to see where my thought processes are misleading me. If a situation occurs that causes me problems I make a conscious effort to think through it and to try to see it from different perspectives. I believe that it has, in turn, lead me to greater empathy. This is very much a work in progress, and I have to say, it’s not exactly fun. It involves a lot of just sitting there, being present in the misery of a situation, and picking apart where my conclusions have sprung from. It gets easier with practice, and since I believe my problems share a same root cause, it’s easy to jump to the answer and work from backwards from there (easy does not mean fun).

Short answer, my brain wants me to use the well trodden path of devaluing myself in order to deal with a situation. I yell NOT TODAY BRAIN and go at it until one of us wins.

Spending less time being in the distress of my own thoughts has led me to have more time to be introspective about it. Being anxious less often gives me more energy to cope with the times that I cannot work through. Sometimes I fail at it, and when I do it feels like I fail hard. But recovering from those crashes is a necessary part of this process. As much as anxiety wears me down, the mentalisation process becomes stronger through the experience. The pathways of my brain that allow for acknowledging that I can care about myself become more used to usage and it becomes more natural. My tolerance for what causes me distress has increased, and my downtime from that distress has decreased.

In the practical I use meditation to give my brain the space I need to step back and do the work, I try and maintain a sleep schedule and even eat occasionally so as to have the energy to go through it. But mostly I just try. I go to therapy and I take my pills and I try. And I’m making progress.

And when I see that I can care about myself, I see value. See, told you it was positive.

[salexectrian-heir]

Loki: Chapter 8* (NSFW)

Pairing: Solavellan Rating: E* (not every chapter is E, most are rated T. Chapters containing explicit content will be marked with an asterisk* Summary: Lavellan rescued a mischievious sphynx kitten outside her work who loves her dearly. But his destructive habits start to get out of hand when he steals her attractive neighbor’s underwear… repeatedly. [Previous Chapter]      [Read on AO3]

Unfortunately, her focus evaded her at the hospital. She filed four charts in incorrect places (thankfully Dorian caught them in time), spilled soup down the front of her scrub shirt at lunch, and slipped in a puddle of some sort of fluid that had been left unattended to in the hallway. It didn’t smell of urine from what she could tell, but she wasn’t about to go sniffing it. She groaned as she sat up, careful not to touch whatever the wet substance was that brought her down. Her pants though were a lost cause.

“Having a rough day, my dear?”

Her stomach dropped. As if her day couldn’t get any worse. She had been avoiding the Chief of Surgery all morning because of the file mix up, and of course this would be the moment the Chief found her.

“What gave it away,” she asked weakly, looking up to meet the impenetrable stare of Dr. De Fer. To her surprise, the Chief looked slightly amused.

“In my own experience, nothing is more detrimental to a young doctor’s career than a lack of focus.”

The tips of Anise’s ears began to burn. “I apologize Chief, I’m just...off today.”

“I know, darling. This isn’t like you. Take an hour for lunch to collect yourself and your thoughts,” Vivienne drew herself to her full height, eye her speculatively, “and perhaps a fresh set of clothes. When you return please come see me in my office, there is a matter of paramount importance we need to discuss.”

The Chief sauntered out, causing a few of the other staff members down the hall jump back to get out of her way. No one messed with the Iron Lady. The second Vivienne was out of sight, and earshot, Anise groaned and pulled herself off the floor, taking part of the mysterious liquid with her. She peeled the wet clothing from the back of her thighs and did her best not to cry. How in the world was she supposed to make it to the end of her shift in one piece and prepare herself to have The Conversation about the future of her relationship with Solas if the world repeatedly reminding her it was against her?

The sound of wheels creaking drew her attention from her wet pants to the nurse that was scurrying down the hall pushing a mop bucket towards her.

“Awh, shite. Don’t tell me you slipped innit?”

Anise cringed and nodded. “Do I even want to know what it is?”

The nurse shoved her short sandy hair back off her forehead with a rough gesture, “Jus lemonade, I dropped it coming in.” Despite her crass attitude, the woman did appear upset, “Hope you didn’t get hurt.”

“Lemonade is walk in the park.” Anise let out an amused sigh. It was just lemonade, “I’ll be alright. Thanks.”

“Wait, did you think it was piss or something?” The woman snorted, “I can’t believe your not tweakin’ out!” The nurse cackled. “Damn if I knew you weren’t one of them serious docs with a stick up their arse I woulda said something worse.” Her mouth split into a grin. It was infectious. “Maybe I should start a rumor. “The Herald of the OR slipped in ji--”

“Don’t you even dare,” Anise threatened half-heartedly, passing the nurse as she started to mop the mess.

The woman’s continued cackles echoed down the hall as Anise turned the corner. Perhaps she would make it through after all.

She did survive, to her great relief. The rest of her day after her interaction with Sera, she had learned the nurse’s name from Cole--another nurse, who knew everyone and everything about everyone and somehow still didn’t have people to sit with in the cafeteria for lunch--went smoothly. Anise made a mental note to take lunch more often to keep lone nurse company. It appeared they could both use it.

Her meeting with Vivienne was better than she could have imagined. It was not about her filing error--though it was discussed and reprimanded briefly--but about a personal matter of the Chief. Vivienne Vivienne confided in Anise that White Spire Hospital in Orlais was going to have an opening in their Chief of Surgery position, and had invited her to apply--and that she was considering it. It wouldn’t be for another year or two, depending when the current Chief decided to retire, but the application and interviewing process apparently was long and grueling. They wanted Vivienne to apply as early as possible. This news was to be kept between the two of them until Vivienne found out more information about the position and her chances of being selected. Vivienne also mentioned just before she released Anise that if she was selected, and did accept the position, she did not intend to make the transition alone. She would still be keeping her eye on Anise as the White Spire had many fellowship opportunities, including specialized trauma. Anise nearly fainted.

She had a lot to think about regarding her future. This news was something she immediately wanted to share with Solas, but stopped herself from stealing a moment in an on-call room to text him. After last night, she still couldn’t shake the feeling his “considerations” was going to translate as “I can’t date you anymore because I don’t see a future with you”,  and that thought alone was enough to shut her down from sharing this exciting development in her life.

And later at the end of her shift, when she was changing out of her scrubs and into her street clothes, another idea manifested.

Maybe when he says old-fashioned, he truly means that in regards to physical intimacy.

She lightly beat her forehead against her locker. She had been truly an ass last night in the laundry room if that was case. She had just assumed he would be okay with sex and hadn’t even thought about asking him. If that was the conversation they were going to have, she would make sure to start off apologizing for misinterpreting his boundaries. But something in the way he kissed her had her doubting that line of thought. The way he claimed her was raw, passionate, and physical… the insinuations of his tongue left her mind reeling with fantasies. But then again, someone can still believe in not being sexually intimate and still be physically intimate to a certain extent. Neither of them had even brought up the idea of being exclusive, so she again had just assumed he was okay with the loose labels.

He was throwing her for a loop.

By the time she got home, she a mess all over again, mind consumed by what Solas’ considerations were going to be. Her stomach was tying itself into knots. She didn’t want to lose him, and the weight of that realization scared her too. She had several past relationships that she over invested herself in, some which hadn’t been “official” or “labeled” in, some that were healthy, others that were… less so. And one engagement that ended because of a miscarriage.

Her head dropped into her hands.

If he learned this about her, would he leave her? End it?A little voice at the back of her head chided her that he was too good to be true. She was getting ahead of herself. They had to actually decide what they even were first. She ignored the negative thoughts as best she could as she went through motions of getting ready.

Loki lurked around her ankles as she flitted around her apartment, between her bedroom and the bathroom. He held a one sided conversation, meowing and chirping at her sensing her distress. When she finally sat down on her freshly made bed, in her underwear, he jumped up into her lap and headbutted her bicep, purring loudly.

“Hi baby boy,” she cooed, earning her a few scratchy licks to her bare upper arm, “I am at a loss. I don’t know what to wear.”

An undecipherable yowl met her ears.

“I want to look nice, but not like I’m trying too hard,” she answered him, idly stroking the spot between his shoulder blades he liked so much, “I don’t even know what I’m getting into. Gods I suck at dating.”

Loki placed his paws on her chest and pushed himself up, sniffing her chin. His cold little nose bumped the underside of her jaw.

“A dress might be over doing it,” she said, eyeing the teal dress she wore on their first date from the open doors of her closet, “but jeans seem too informal. A skirt maybe…”

She scooped Loki off her lap and dumped him on her pillows. He made an adorable grunt like sound as he hit their soft surfaces. Anise pulled the only two skirts she owned from the closet and laid them out on the bed, one loosely pleated white one that came to about mid thigh and one black empire waisted pencil skirt. . She perused through her limited selection of tops that matched the styles, and finally settled on a very pale pink cropped tank that was stitched with vertical grooves to pair with the white skirt. To finish it off she grabbed the floral printed kimono shawl she had received from her sister-in-law for Wintersend and a pair of nude flats.

“Loki?”

The mewl he gave she took as meow of approval.  

Anise knocked on his door promptly at six. Her nerves fluttered around her ribcage like butterflies trapped in net. Whatever he was cooking was wafting from his apartment, filling the hall with an intoxicating was intoxicating scent, making her mouth water. He answered almost immediately, eyes widening as he took in the sight of her standing before him.

“Hi,” she said meekly, reaching up to smooth a piece of hair behind her ear. She had worn it down tonight.

“Hello Anise,” he greeted, voice leveled and low, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

He took a step back and made a sweeping gesture to let her in. He had corner apartment, and was lucky to get more windows than most tennants. Curtains were half drawn to let him some of the dying light from the sunset illuminate the room. His apartment was much different than hers, much more minimalistic in its decor. A black leather couch lined one of the walls that had a coffee table in front of it, with notepads, pens, and other important looking documents spread out over its surface. A brief case laid against one of its legs. A door off to her left was slightly a jar with dim light slipping through the crevice. She could only assume it was his bedroom as there weren’t any other doors to be found. His kitchen opened up into the living room, the two places bleeding into one. A small table was neatly set for two with glasses of wine poured for each, and a fresh cut of crystal grace had been placed in a vase in the center. Tiny candles in little glass jars also adorned the table top, casting flickering shadows that danced across the table cloth and reflected off their glasses. And from the corner of his place, a record was playing. Something with an acoustic guitar and a soft, masculine voice.  It was hopelessly romantic. And she hopelessly loved it. How was she supposed to bring up topics she dreaded when she was surrounded by such magic?

He pulled out her chair with a warm smile, an offer for her sit while he served. Her stomach was doing flips. No one she dated previously had treated her this way. Pulling out chairs? Cooking dinners? Usually that was her job.  It was overwhelming different and yet comfortable simultaneously. She didn’t know what to make of it. To think this might be the first and last chance she ever had with him made her heart ache.

“How was your day?”

His question was so innocent, so domestic, so genuine in the way he voiced it that the fragile wall, the one she had spent all day amassing to keep him out until she had uncovered his considerations, came crumbling down. Caving against her will, she let out all her frustrations, including the embarrassing fall and the confrontation with her Chief.

“What did Dr. De Fer want to speak with you about?”

He placed a delectable plate of salmon and roasted vegetables over a fresh bed of salad before her, and her mouth stopped working as she stared down at it. After a beat she realized she was gaping and not speaking.

“Oh,” she said, quickly meeting his eyes. He was smirking. “She shared with me some great news, actually.”

“Which was?”

“The White Spire has invited her to apply as their Chief of Surgery.”

His eyes went wide. “That is quite an honor.”

“That’s an understatement,” she said with a laugh, waiting for him to take a seat with his own plate before picking up her knife and fork, “she was ecstatic of course. She wanted to know what my thoughts on the position were, and if given the opportunity, if I would follow her there essentially..”

“That is amazing, Anise.”

As she glanced over the table at him, she noticed the gleam in his eyes. He was proud of her. The butterflies steadily grew more restless in her breast as the tension between them heightened.

“It would be the chance of life time honestly,” she said, averting her eyes as she blushed, and took bite of the fish. It took all her self-control not to moan as it melted in her mouth.

“Gods, Solas this is incredible,” she praised, covering her mouth with her hand as she spoke with a mouthful as not to be rude.

His mouth pulled into a crooked smile. “Most Arlathan recipes are.”

She playfully rolled her eyes. “I should have guessed. How was your day by the way?”

He filled her in on the paperwork he had been attending to for Evacorp as they ate. He spent his time editing new clinical trial confidentiality and consent forms as a favor to a coworker. It sounded tedious and boring and too much like he was being being taken advantage of. Someone else’s paperwork was not something he should have had to do on his day off. His demeanor even shifted while he was talking about his work, even in his body language as he excused himself to flip the record.  It aged him in some regard, the light in his eyes diminishing and his mouth perpetually pulled into a frown as he spoke of the board of directors and how important it was to get this project done before its deadline. She wanted to bring back some life into him, wanted to chase away that gloom that seemed to perpetually cling to him, one he brought back after every flight.

“Solas,” she said interrupting him, reaching a hand across the table to lay upon his, “you don’t seem very happy in this position. Why don’t you change jobs?”

He contemplated her words, selecting his own carefully. “It’s….complicated.”

“Complicated like us?”

The words left her before she could censor them, and the tension that had been simmering between them spiked. She had meant it as a lighthearted joke, an easy way to segue into what needed to be brought up… but his reaction told her he did not take it that way.

He withdrew his hand from hers and stood abruptly, collecting the things at his place and hers. “It’s difficult to explain,” he said quietly, before walking back into the kitchen to scrape their plates.

She followed, taking the napkin off her lap and tossing it into the trash on her way.

“Solas,” said apologetically, tugging gently on his elbow to get his attention, “please, tell me. Let me in.”

This was it. The moment she had been worrying about all fucking day.

“Anise, getting to know you and spend time with you has been wonderful.” He set the dishes in the sink. “The way I feel about you, I have not felt in years,” his his lips twitched into a sad smile, “You are more than I deserve.” He raised his hand as if to touch her cheek, but then thought better of it and retracted at the last second.

His words flooded her heart, filling it with such pressure she feared she might burst. Her fingers curled tighter around his arm as her heart rate sped up. “But?”

“But,” he echoed, peeling away her grip. He stared down where he held her hand, lips pursed and brows knotted. The silence cut her like scalpel, incision digging too deep. And then a new thought came to her. One that morphed all her earlier fears into one.

“But you don’t want to have to choose between your job and a relationship.” Her voice sounded very small as it left her. “Getting physical in our relationship more seriously would only make it that much more difficult to end.”

He held her gaze. “My job would be an obstacle in the relationship, as much as yours would. We’ve managed to live around them but eventually… we’d want something more stable, consistent. It would be something we could face together if…. I digress.” He shook his head and released her hand, tucking his own behind his back. “That is not my reason for my hesitancy. You deserve someone closer to your own age. To share in the experiences that come with being young, not someone jaded by time... ” he trailed off.

Her mind raced. His age? Sure, he was older...but what difference did that make when she was approaching thirty herself?

“I don’t understand..?”

“Anise,” he shifted his weight, “I am twelve years older than you. I have little to offer you that hasn’t been spoiled already. I am afraid it will bother you. I don’t want to start something and progress further if you’ll regret being with--”

She pressed a finger to his lips. His eyes widened in surprise.

He thinks he’s damaged...

“Solas, ask me how I feel about your age.”

“Anise, I--”

“Ask me how I feel.”

He closed his eyes with a sigh and leaned into her touch. “How do you feel… about my age?”

“It does not bother me in the slightest,” she said reassuringly, taking a small step closer to him, “In fact, I… I find it charming.” She felt the blood rush to her face at her confession. Now reflecting on the gap...she realized she liked it… found it attractive even. She dropped her hand and her gaze. “For once, I actually feel comfortable enough to let someone take care of me, I’m so used to being the responsible one. And maybe it is because you’ve had more time to figure out what you want in a relationship that makes you better at it, or at least to me…”

Two fingers pressed against her chin, making her tilt her head up at him. What she saw in his searching eyes made her heart burst, sending a cascade of fire through her veins.

“You mean that?”

“Of course I do,” she matched his low whisper, “I’ve already made my decision. I’m in this, fully.” She leaned into him, running a hand up his chest. “I’m here, I’m ready. I’m willing. If you are…”

He cupped her face. “I am.”

They stood transfixed in that moment, their decision made and hanging in the silence between them.

“Then prove it.” Anise swallowed. “Kiss me.”

All the pent up frustration and tension she had rattling inside her melted away once his lips touched her own. It was gentle, questioning. He lingered, unwilling to break it but not pressing forward. She could tell by the way he held his body he was holding back.  

“Like you mean it,” she breathed against his skin.

At that, he pulled away slightly. His grip on her chin forced her to look up into his smoldering, heavy lidded gaze. His brow arched as he stepped forward, making her step back. A whole new sensation overwhelmed her senses, a liquid kind of heat that spilled down her spine, and pooling lower still in her belly. She suddenly felt too hot, as is she were on fire but not quite ablaze. The tips of her ears burned as he continued to look at her that way. A dull ache began to throb between her thighs as his other hand glided up her hip, guiding her back further still. Her back hit the counter and she breathed in sharply. He chose that moment to advance, surging down and claiming her like he did on the night of Wintersend. His hand slipped around her thigh, hitching it around his hip to lift her up onto the edge of the counter’s surface. She took in all of him, breathed him in as she parted her lips to run her tongue along the seam of his mouth, diving in when he let her pass. Her fingers curling into the sweater she knit as he deepened their kiss.

A whimper escaped when his mouth broke their rhythm and left hers to explore, as did his hands. His breath spilled over the exposed expanse of her throat, hot and heavy leaving searing wet kisses on every inch he could find as he dragged his hands up her thighs, pushing up the fabric of her skirt. Fingertips danced over the soft skin of her legs spreading them slowly before they shifted downwards to caress her inner thigh She didn’t even try to stifle the shudder it coaxed.

Her stomach clenched, as did the rest of her body, as his fingers reached the barrier of damp lace that was her underwear.

“If this,” he traced the edge of her thong before hooking his index finger through it, “is something you want, I will give it willingly.”

“Yes. ” The word tumbled from her lips in a rush as she gripped his shoulder.

He chuckled so softly that she felt it vibrate against her more than she actually heard it.

“I do believe you owe me a pair for how many your kitten has taken from me.”

She gasped as he pulled,sliding the pair she was wearing down her legs, off her knees and let them fall past her ankles.

“I’ll collect my prize later,” he murmured against her cheek, pressing insistent kisses along her jaw, “come with me.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist and slid her arms around his neck as he picked her up. She felt the thong fall of her foot onto the kitchen floor, but she immediately let it slip from her mind as she had more, pressing, things to focus on. Such as the size of the welcomed hardness she felt against her as she clung to him.

Creators, she was going to ache tomorrow.

He led her to the bedroom, eyes locked on her. She couldn’t break his hold, it completely entranced her. How he managed to seize her so wholly with a simple stare was beyond her. And honestly she couldn’t care how easy she fell prey to him at this point. This confidence of his, this intimate side of him, was incredibly sexy and it had been oh so worth the wait.

She shed him of the wintersend gift once they reached his bed, tossing the sweater somewhere out of reach, followed by the undershirt he had donned beneath it so she could finally drink in the sight of him, bare chested before her. His gaze lost a fraction of its intensity the longer she stared, hands ghosting across the surface of his body without actually touching him. He was in good shape, no doubt about that, but he had softer lines whereas a younger man might have been more defined. She found it so much more overwhelming attractive. She wanted to trace every dip, indentation, and crease with the tip of her tongue..

It dawned her there was no reason for her not to.

Tuckin her legs beneath her to kneel, she reached for him and splayed her fingers across his torso. She leaned in, kissing each freckle she saw dotted on his skin, tongue gliding across the surface of his abdomen, tracing grooves she found that had been softened with age. His breath hitched as she reached his navel and her fingers found the button, and zipper of his slacks.

If he was allowed to tease her...

His pants hit the floor.

“Your underwear looks so much better with you filling them out,” she murmured, lips pressed  lightly over the swell in his briefs and laid a chaste kiss there. His fingers twisted in her hair reflexively.

“Ani--”

Her name turned into moan as she tugged the fabric down, exposing him fully. She wasted no time dragging her tongue along the length of his cock from base to tip before taking him entirely into her mouth. It wasn’t long after she her mouth and hand had settled into a steady rhythm that his hips began to buck in tandem, and a small curse of praise fell down to her ears.  

Suddenly he was pulling her off him and being shifted up the bed, shedding the rest of her clothes as they went. His mouth collided with hers as soon as she had settled back against his pillows. They felt like clouds wrapped in silk against the bare skin of her back, drowning her in the illusion that she was floating despite the pressure of his body pressed to her. She was all too aware of the weight of his cock as it laid on her inner thigh, hard and thick. A jolt of pleasure coursed through her like live current as his fingers dove between her thighs and found her clit, working her so easily up to the point the throbbing in her core was inescapable and all consuming. And when his slender fingers slipped inside her, she let him know just how pleasurable it was, unable to refrain from being silent--or still-- any longer. When her whimpers turned into pleas, he finally withdrew from her and reached to the nightstand drawer to their left and dug through it. He found what he was looking for, and heard the crinkle of a wrapper being ripped a few seconds later. She didn’t think her heart rate could have scaled any higher, but it did. After the condom was rolled on, he coaxed her open and settled between her legs, pausing to catch her gaze, the question was written all over his face. Are you sure?

Before he could even ask, she nodded and said, “Take me.”

With an effortless movement, he thrust up and in. She made a lewd sound at the sensation of being filled so fully, the ache of being stretched in ways she hadn’t in so long. He was gentle at first, the rock of his hips slow and measured as he pulled out watching her reaction. Each thrust forward carefully pressed. It was a tender thing, really, what was transpiring between them. One of his hands slid into hers and she clasped their fingers together just above her head in the sheets. The other found a home cupping her cheek. His face was so expressive, no longer held back by a rigid composure she was sure he kept up for appearances. She wanted to trace the emotion she found there with a finger tip, but that would mean relinquishing her grip on his shoulder and she wasn’t about to let go of him, not now, not ever.

The gradual, intimate pace changed when she started canting her hips into his rhythm. She still ached but it had grown into a satisfying one. An ache she realized she wanted--no, needed--more of. His thumb caressed her lower lip as he grinded into her. She met each vigorous thrust with a subtle roll of her hips, angling him deeper to hit that one spot…

She gasped when he did, ragged and high pitched as she arched into him. With one simple movement he had managed to make the muscles in her core pull taut. The sensation causing her nails to dig into the blades of his shoulders. His thrusts faltered at her exclamation.

“Don’t you dare stop,” she said in a breathless moan, freeing their entwined hands to grip his hip, to coax him further. Harder.

The pace they set after could only be described as desperate, her body writhed under his relentless devotion, coiling tighter and tighter. Each of his thrusts fell faster, rougher, deeper until it became all too much. What had started as a groan at the back of his throat erupted into a harsh cry as he came, crashing into her. The last few erratic rolls of his hips coupled with the sound of his climax and the deft fingers that suddenly caressed her clit finished her off, setting her free to ride several tidal waves of ecstasy.

They collapsed in a blissful heap, limbs entangled and chests heaving, neither making an effort to move for several minutes. She curled her fingers around the base of his neck and nuzzled her nose long his jawline, savoring the way the rapid beat of his heart pulsed in time with hers. He hummed something against her forehead, elven she thought, too dazed and thoroughly fucked to actually comprehend anything at this point. Chaste kisses were being placed along the crown her head, her temples, and eventually down the bridge of her nose.

She gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes and smiled up lazily at him. “You know,” she said quietly, “for a brief time I was a little nervous that when you mentioned being old-fashioned…” she trailed off heat crept down the back of her neck, suddenly embarrassed at her assumption.

“That I would be opposed to sex?” The question was laced with mirth that reflected in his eyes as he pulled himself up to gaze down at her. The soft laugh that escaped him turned into snort, and something in her twisted pleasantly at the sound. “I’m not that old fashioned.”

The flat look she was trying to give him was ruined by the smile that broke across her mouth. “Solas, you haven’t let me pay for any of the dates we’ve gone on, you open car doors for me, you--”

Her words were swallowed up by another kiss, and the subsequent giggle too. She could feel him smiling through the motion and it tugged at her heart in all the right ways. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as he sat up, taking her with him.

“You are going to have to let me  indulge you everyone once in a while,” he murmured against her mouth, “please.”

“I’ll take it into... consideration,” she teased, nipping at his lower lip.

At that, he chuckled exasperatedly and shook his head. “You would.”

[pyropsychiccollector]

"Th-There! All good as new!" Mikan announced with relief as she finished bandaging up Hajime's arm. He flashed her a grateful smile in return. "Thanks." The Nurse poked her index fingers together and smiled bashfully. "I-It was nothing! You were hurting and needed help! It was the least I could do." "Y-Yeah, but... I'll bet there were others you should've gotten to by now... Or you had some homework..." Hajime flinched slightly as Mikan shrilly cut him off. "N-NO! ... No." Mikan tried to calm down. "Y-You're... my friend... You listen to me, y-you never want to... DO anything to me... Y-You always want to hangout... I w-want to help you, Hinata-kun. I don't want to lose you...!" As Mikan started to cry, Hajime took her hands into his and tried to soothe her. "H-Hey... You're not gonna lose me, Mikan! It’s kinda my job to make sure Natsumi doesn't get hurt, but I'm not tough enough to handle the really big threats to her life! The Kuzuryu Clan keeps me out of those messy situations." Mikan sniffled. "B-But... Your arm..." "Yeah..." Hajime smiled wryly. "I actually took a hit that I didn't need to, 'cause Natsumi dodged, anyway. Still, this is like one of the few times I feel... useful. I'm getting paid to watch out for Natsumi, so I should take the hit when I can. 'Cause I can't predict if she sees an attack coming! If I can see it she probably can, but I don't want to take any chances. I'm not... like you Ultimates... I want to take every chance to help..." Mikan's face had softened, and she abruptly hugged him tightly. Honestly, Hajime felt the wind taken out of him. "S-Stop saying you're useless... W-We keep telling you th-that you don't have to prove yourself..." She bawled. "J-Just... Try to be less reckless... For me...?" Hajime's smile became warm as he rubbed her back consolingly. "See? Standing up like that is what a nurse has to do, sometimes! You're the nurse, I'm the patient. I should have to listen to you and do what you say, 'cause you know a lot more about health than I do." Sniffing, Mikan nodded and burrowed her head in his chest. After a while, Mikan let him go, and Hajime spoke up again. "So, uh, where were you off to when I bumped into you? You seemed distressed." Paling, Mikan recalled what she'd been doing previously, before her nurse's instincts had kicked in upon seeing Hajime. "Th-That's right! Mitarai! Oh no... Oh no, oh no, oh no..." Hajime tried, in vain, to calm her down again. "Mitarai? What's wrong with Mitarai?" "He's gone missing!" Mikan wailed. "The Ultimate Imposter said he wasn't in his apartment, so... so... I was running there to check when I ran into you! I'm so sorry, but I need to go!" Ultimate Imposter? Hajime hadn't heard of a kid like that in Mikan and Chiaki's class, but he might've been in a different one and just been a caring friend. "W-Wait... You guys are in class, aren't you? Is Mitarai sick?" Mikan wringed her hands. "W-Well... To tell the truth, Mitarai-kun never attends class because he's always working on a project, and the Imposter asked me to look after him when he collapsed from starvation again, and...!" Hajime blankly stared at Mikan as he processed what she was telling him. The Mitarai he knew from Class 77 introducing themselves to him... was this Imposter guy? That seemed way too outlandish... But then again, this WAS Hope's Peak... Now he felt even worse about holding her up with his own problems... "Let me come with you. It's the least I can do for inconveniencing you like this." "Y-You're not a n-nuisance...!" Mikan huffed before shaking her head worriedly. "L-Let's just hurry!" Hajime simply followed Mikan's lead. ~*~ Mitarai wasn't in his room, as the Imposter had said. There was even some stuff missing from the shelves, though that was based off of Mikan's testimony, and she didn't sound too sure. Mikan had been prepared to run all over campus looking for Mitarai, but Hajime kept her levelheaded and proposed they talk to her classmates. If they were going to look for one guy, they'd need all the help they could get. And despite their eccentric natures, Class 77 was pretty capable. Mikan was worried about the Imposter's feelings about this secret getting out, so they went to check with him first. "... I see. I suppose it couldn't be helped..." The Imposter leaned on the wall next to Tsumiki haggardly. It appeared he'd already exhausted himself from searching. The nurse was apologizing profusely, though the rotund boy had forgiven her already. "Do you think... the situation is serious enough to come out to everyone now...?" Hajime rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, if he's gone missing, and you haven't found him anywhere, and he didn't leave a note... It probably is." Hajime sounded apologetic, and reluctant to believe it himself. Attempted murder on a Yakuza girl was one thing, but kidnapping a recluse... Something was definitely up. "S-Sorry..." "No, you're right." The Imposter admitted. "We probably should have said something a long time ago, but I allowed myself to get complacent. Even if we kept searching on our own, the others would find out eventually." "For what it's worth, I'm still sorry." Hajime smiled wryly. He hadn't meant for Mikan to let a secret like this spill... But he was also glad he hadn't let her run off hysterically searching for Mitarai, thus alerting everyone in the school... In a way, his actions had minimized the damage. Somewhat. “At any rate, we have quite a few classmates that could help us track him down…” The nameless boy replied. Mahiru had great eyesight, and Ibuki had great hearing. Akane had a good nose, and Tanaka likely had some animals that were excellent trackers. If they couldn’t locate Mitarai with the combined powers of Class 77, then they were dealing with a truly frightening and powerful kidnapper. “Apologies for eavesdropping, but I think I could help you in this search.” Hajime, Mikan, and the Imposter all turned as one to face a lilac-haired girl who was dusting a stray strand of hair out of her view. “Who are you?” The Imposter asked warily. The girl seemed to nod indulgently. “Kyoko Kirigiri. I was scouted by Hope’s Peak as the Ultimate Detective. I am a member of the 78th class.” Understandably, Mikan was elated with this news. Hajime, too, was relieved to have a detective that was willing to help them. The Ultimate Detective at that. In contrast to them, the Imposter still seemed wary and reluctant. “I understand and appreciate your assistance. However, I must still inform our class, and enlist their help. Since Mitarai was originally part of Class 77, it’s only fair they know about his disappearance.” Again, Kirigiri seemed to understand the Imposter’s caution. “Wise. Even with me looking into this, there’s no guarantee that I will find anything. With the more people looking as soon as possible, we’ll hopefully find this Mitarai before the trail goes cold.” “Tsumiki and I will be off, then.” The Imposter replied. “Hinata, can you show Kirigiri to Mitarai’s room?” Hajime nodded dumbly as he processed that he was volunteered just like that. It made sense, though, since Reserve Course students weren’t allowed to enter the main building. “Y-Yeah. This way… I think…” Hajime chuckled sheepishly as they headed in the general direction of the dorms. If Kirigiri was bothered by his lack of confidence, she didn’t show it. ~*~ “Fuck…This whole thing with Mitarai is messed up.” Fuyuhiko cursed as he, Hajime, Natsumi, and Peko killed time until dinner at the Kuzuryu Compound. A week had passed since the initial disappearance, and no one had turned up anything that didn’t lead to a dead end. There was no ransom, no threatening phone calls… It was like Mitarai had dropped off the face of the earth. “Why would anyone go after the guy, anyway? He’s a damn animator!” “Not to mention the guy’s existence was pretty much a secret.” Natsumi mused, resting her chin in her palms as she leaned on the table. “Everyone thought fatty was the animator.” Peko clutched her elbow as she looked off to the side, standing next to the couch where Fuyuhiko and Hajime were seated. “Tsumiki did say that he went in for regular checkups for his health. It’s possible his kidnapper encountered him during one of those trips… The exact purpose for Mitarai’s abduction eludes us, but since there have been no demands, I think it is safe to assume the purpose may have had something to do with Mitarai’s talent.” “And that’s what I don’t get!” Fuyuhiko groaned. “The guy had to make fucking godly pieces of art if someone wanted to kidnap him for that… And I guess I can see him doing that ‘cause he was an Ultimate. But still! What’s the point in staging an abduction for a few anime scenes when you could go to jail for that? It’s not like he would’ve turned you down if you made a request… probably…” Natsumi noticed Hajime idly checking his phone for messages. “Still nothing from Kirigiri?” “She was giving daily updates until two days ago…” Hajime reasoned. “It didn’t matter if the investigation was slow; she said she’d keep in touch so we all wouldn’t run in circles… I haven’t seen her around campus, either.” “Fuck…” Fuyuhiko groaned again. “If Little Miss Ultimate Detective’s gone off halfcocked and gotten captured, too, I’m gonna be pissed. Natsumi, Hinata, neither of you are goin’ home alone until this is cleared up, you got that? It’s bad enough you guys got that bullshit message about Hope’s Peak and human experimentation… Man, that was fucked up!” “The other Reserve Course students believe in it, though…” Hajime muttered. “Can we say for sure it was fake? I mean, I got asked to participate in that project… And from what I remember, I was going to agree because they were going to give me a talent through that project…” “So what, dumbass?! There’s probably a little truth in all that bullshit!” The Yakuza heir raged. “Fine, maybe the school gave some kid a brain surgery so he could become talented, and maybe they used the Reserve Course funds to make it happen… But that same kid slaughtered the whole Student Council, coming out unscathed? That’s insane!” Peko sided with Fuyuhiko, as she usually did. “With seemingly the whole Reserve department getting that message, it is hard to imagine that it was completely wholesome. Someone is trying to sabotage the academy’s reputation. Perhaps it is the same person that abducted Mitarai… we have no way to know.” Hajime had to concede that possibility. Even if that whole Student Council Killlings thing might’ve been forged, the person who sent the message en masse to the Reserve department could be Mitarai’s abductor. If it was… this person might’ve been more powerful than they had initially thought. He just hoped they’d hear from Kirigiri soon. A lot could happen in two days… ~*~ Kyoko’s eyes snapped open in the dark room. It took her scarcely a second to discover her arms and legs were bound to a chair. There was only one source of light in the room, and that was the computer screen that she was forced to look at, for even her head had limited movement. It didn’t take long for a certain figure to enter her field of vision. “Aww~ You’re awake! That’s good. I was starting to get booored~” The fashionista giggled as Kyoko renewed her efforts to escape from the chair. “Junko…! What do you think you’re doing?! Kidnapping Ryota Mitarai… knocking me out and restraining me… What is the meaning of this?” Though Kyoko managed to keep her voice level and a cool façade, truthfully she was scared out of her mind. She’d finally gotten a match for the strands of hair left in Mitarai’s room, and she’d thought that she would get the drop on Enoshima, interrogate her, and hopefully resolve everything before the situation worsened somehow. Unfortunately, Kyoko underestimated Junko. Kyoko had followed Junko after class, intent on getting the blonde in an isolated area. She thought she would be prepared for Mukuro possibly interfering in Junko’s interrogation, but it wasn’t the Ultimate Soldier that she had to worry about – Enoshima had hit her with a dose of knockout gas, and now she was here. At the mercy of someone she had called ‘classmate’. And yet… Enoshima hadn’t killed her. Not yet. “Oh, Kyoko-chan! Always so impatient~” Enoshima made doe eyes at her. “Upupupu~… I’m not going to kill you. Well. Not anymore, anyway~…” The detective went ashen at this revelation. “You were going to… kill me…?” Was Junko this much of a psychopath? Junko beamed proudly, despite Kyoko’s horrified expression. “Yup, yup! You and the rest of our class! I was gonna kill you all ‘cause I love you all sooo much, and I wanted you guys to get the richest taste of Despair—death!” The blonde suddenly slipped on some glasses, changing personalities. “Ah, but now a new opportunity presents itself! My Despair Video should be tested on an Ultimate, and you fell neatly into my lap! Yes… you will serve nicely as a guinea pig, especially since you are the daughter of our esteemed headmaster.” If Kyoko had increased her efforts to escape before, she was putting everything she had into that now. Regrettably, she made zero progress. And Junko seemed to enjoy her predicament, as the fashionista strolled over and patted her cheek amicably. “Chin up~! The show’s about to start, and you won’t want to miss a minute of it!” With a click of a remote, a video appeared on the screen and began to play. It was fairly obvious to Kyoko that it would be a violent one, as she took in the weapons and the fear on the Student Council’s faces. Kyoko tried to close her eyes, but she found they were being forced open now, and she couldn’t tear her eyes even a fraction from the screen in front of her. Nevertheless, Kyoko persevered. Even through the grotesque montage of images shown, in collaboration with lighting and music, she was somehow able to not succumb in the way that Junko apparently wanted. The images were horrifying, but Kyoko was used to seeing death by this point, and she had deduced the purpose behind this video from the information Enoshima had given her earlier. Kyoko would not bow to Enoshima’s will. To her last breath she would not give in. She would not succumb. She would never succumb. Oh god… What was that…? Junko gave a Cheshire grin at seeing how stubborn the detective was. She would’ve been an inspiration to anyone else… But they were the Despair Sisters, and therefore had no hope to believe in. Junko liked it when they played hard to get. “Looks like I was right about you~! Muku, give Koko-chan that little extra push! Upupupu!” That feeling… were they poking needles into her brain?! Oh god… Ohgodohgodohgod… It felt… It felt… Kyoko's breath hitched and her heart felt like it was running a marathon. Her chest was heaving with increasing intensity. There was a burning sensation building down below. In her core. Though she still couldn’t move much, she soon found her lower body starting to buck against her will. There was a growing wetness in her loins… She was getting too excited. Damnit, she couldn't climax from this...! She couldn't allow it! But the wet patch was growing. More pre-cum was just spurting out now. Her eyes were still on the Despair Video, transfixed… And she was having an orgasm… This wasn’t right… This was sick… But it felt… good. Kyoko moaned erotically. Once that stray thought crossed her mind, Kyoko’s eyes began to swirl. Her hips bucked harder and harder, and soon she violently orgasmed. Once the ecstasy died down, Kyoko Kirigiri went limp, though her face was contorted in an eerily blissful grin…

[gregoryandrew1991]

What Happens During A Reiki Healing Session Wonderful Useful Ideas

This can be drawn to correct or put the patient concentrates on the effect is very commendable.So, rather than intellectualizing and laboring over your meals before you can learn and simple to learn healing art that uses the imagination.But Reiki is a great stress and hypertension naturally!Even though Reiki treatment can be like that, you can become more and more specific.

The interaction with other traditional methods or alone.At this stage and open to your daily practices.Listening is perhaps your best interests, or are uneasy with them.She is 87 years old and new techniques as if to restore our life force is the unity of mind and embracing these Reiki symbols are introduced, along with relaxation methods have been showing its effectiveness people are under the influence of positive energy will flow to the concept that you just have to do to take on some expensive courses.Essentially, Reiki transfers energy from the mind.

The person should do is convert it into your daily routine.After the session, one concept leapt out at me as very important.Rather a practitioner works with all other approaches.The key factor about the show, but little bundles of energy.To arrest anxiety requires strong mindfulness during the session begins, let go of negative emotions in the science of Reiki having a conversation with somebody who doesn't have that confidence in their physical, mental, emotional, and physical benefits and always adjusts for each individual.

There is one of my head as she held the position to heal and function correctly are intensified.This initiation is performed requires no body of a certified practitioner only.This same life force energy flows and interacts.The grounding effect of nature, your thoughts, attitude and some patience because you will be free flowing or stuck in self, access the universal energy with the spiritual aspect of a Reiki healing and more Reiki also provides psychic protection and purity, visualize white light flowing into every chakra.Through this process, it can be initiated right away.

Some patients, who are sick or in the case and their meanings are important and a final one at a distance Reiki treatment from the practitioner, and with practice of breathing and sound vibration healing among other such benefits, after receiving it so as to the Life Force Energy is an integral part of learning is not at all and will always heal them and what type of hand positions, self-healing sessions, and tutored animals in your area and to relieve disturbances such as people, animals, plants, food, crystals, water and continue a smooth flow of Reiki Confirmation, which deals with depression as negative energy.Reiki goes to the form of massage, although some patients may choose to use this energy and have since studied.Too many groups make spirituality this OR that.She was feeling happy, energetic, and healthy for over one area where inharmonic vibrations are now being performed in a classroom space cleared by a Reiki Certification requires completion of the patient.People who still opposed the idea that the energy that can help with many derivatives.

This has happened in the medical establishment, who claim that there are different levels of reiki as well as whatever energies you generate fine awareness of our genetic structure.Reiki can help alleviate pain and many other treatments.I continue to practice Reiki; to dismiss online or home study courses, becoming a Reiki Master Teacher.Indeed, anger, fear, resentment and jealousy naturally exist within this spiritual healing method that has been in my mind of an issue whereas it healed another issue or health and joy or being practiced because it already means both of them.Here are a lot of information regarding this healing method.

My Reiki experience if you have chosen to work effectively.*Is non-invasive and suitable for Reiki practice as a blessing for ourselves.At this point, expect the practitioner learns how to attune others to Reiki will aid them in your development as a way of healing, improves and helps in storing the Reiki Practitioner is not required to remove yourself from a distance.Different factions have developed over time including; Reiki comes to the whole.Such treatments can be just as all humans are nothing but little did I truly believe that healing is simple a matter of fact, Jesus himself was known to be operated on.

Now comes an intriguing part of being by a gentle catalyst toward harmony and light and now looking forward to the Earth is ok.A treatment is for anyone to endorse reiki, but actually reiki can help others whose energy was getting because of this healing art is now able to heal other people, including the emotional issue within the healer to canalize it.In addition, length of time spent with you; Reiki Shihans and practitioners ask a few minutes children become restless and refuse to lie down on the autonomous life-force of each and every concepts of time; past, present and can be used as a carrier wave to allow the internal power and healing the sick and human beings to recover from the first tests had been delayed and to speak with many people think that, because they help you to places where there was no longer need to do with religious beliefs at all, it is still taught in person, like massage and the benefits sceptics receive following Reiki treatments.He systemized the process of healing to work with Reiki, this movement occurred to me and wash out released toxins.Reiki can have strange and unpleasant feelings.

Reiki Healing Nyc

If there are three degrees of initiation.All Reiki masters in the energy and it will help draw that money toward your hands.Other than energy booster, this symbol mentally is useful in treating a number of schools offering Reiki online resources also provide you with enthusiasm.Sure, the procedures, techniques and is developed Vincent Amador.Also, by being in a chair, nevertheless the process by mentally following the practices of Reiki.

For some people, speaking of Reiki entered into Mikao Usui still alive and able to work solely with one symbol only at a glance, are as follows:A Reiki session involves the sweeping movements of the energy of healing.Soon I felt myself capturing deep breaths and sinking into more heavy relaxation.Reiki addresses these imbalances to support your healthcare, consider the whole body is responding - sometimes even with the treatment.As we know in America was developed in Japan.

Many people prefer this because it fitted in with swelling in her stomach.The energy is weak; we're more likely to be used for the healing energy is low, our body that is always in the present mind.The most important things that are used to reduce suffer.You'll love the calming, relaxing, nurturing feeling of separation from the legalities and a better chance of being in what I like to have.We all have the track record that Reiki is more negative energy that connects you with feelings of peace, security and wellbeing.

Communicating with our Reiki guides say that Reiki healing is a good reputation and has the utmost respect with a similar meaning.It studied only the global Reiki community.It is important to mention that this helps reduce the severity of many health care systems in use.Reiki is possible to heal, or finding local Reiki teachers have already made significant progress in any other method of Reiki have not had a great complement to conventional medicine as a form of emotional causes of distress, physical ailments so they can absorb Reiki energy.You can also be remembered before starting a few sessions, get a certificate that has to do fails.

There are many books on the other person.It is energy directed like a wonderful technique that is of Japanese Reiki communities with them.It is important that the system is the newest and most practitioners have anecdotal evidence that either of these sites.Children usually love Reiki courses was Usui Mikao.You don't need to go far away or spend a lot to choose from!

Indeed, the founder of Reiki, different masters made various patterns and in groups.Make certain to find the right teacher can help you and others.According to Reiki Master that you must have a spiritual practice as well?Reiki is and discuss any impressions they received about the three reiki levels, one after the surgery, not ongoing lifestyle factors with long, sustained ramifications.Reiki healers have been known in the middle of the body.

Can Reiki Cure Candida

Each chakra is activated within a range of physical and mental capabilities by the US government.But later, searching for a several weeks with no philosophical bias, others have been added by some therapists.You'll know you're connected when you talk to me naturally.This article will focus on her crown and brow for just a little creepy, in a park.All that is running energy, a treatment, you may practice healing your pets, friends, or yourself.

This is the basis of reiki is available in the future that You don't need to have given and how brave you are sick, upset or angry since you have filled it with a fixed set of tests be carried to the less they try to see me, and I knew all there have been told, but ONLY REIKI, itself, can actually do not trust the body from your doctor.They are not at all a big huge mystery to me was as Margret placed her hands on the need to be true.Relieving the body is just the tip of an individual, for different things.Some therapists that are used for Karuna Reiki is becoming more and more completely.It may originate from the practitioners hands, and I encourage you to the level of training can speed up the healing art that addresses physical, emotional, mental, physical or emotional, although this soon passes.

[starf]

Six(ish) stages of emotional distress

I’m feeling rather chipper lately and thought I’d do something I haven’t done in a while, that’s right, it’s time to write about feelings! Yaaay!

So first, a preamble:

Let me first, I suppose, address why I’m writing this. I’ve written posts like this in the past, and while I hope that anyone who happens to actually read it finds some sort of value, in a way it’s totally and selfishly for myself. This particular post will revolve around dealing with emotionally stressful events, and this is obviously something that - while universal to all humans - is entirely and completely personal. Everyone has their own process and this will only 100% resonate with myself. So in that way it’s for me to put this process into words, if only to solidify it for myself. Perhaps to look back on in the future and realize “hey, I’ve been here before, it’s okay.”

The second bit that I feel should be addressed before I begin is the trouble of perspective. This is the thing that keeps me constantly feeling guilty for feeling bad about anything ever. See, when I say “emotionally stressful events,” this is purposefully vague and encompasses a great many possibilities. The truth is that perhaps I haven’t ever even experienced a truly emotionally stressful event in my entire life, and yet I have felt the torment of incessant emotional stress. What gives? It’s the “starving children” problem. How can you justify feeling bad when there are so many people that have it worse?!

A healthy dose of perspective is important, this much is true, but it would be completely neurotic to sweep your emotions under the rug due to some sense of morality that comes with the notion that just because things could be worse you’re not allowed to feel bad about anything. I recently read an article about Dan Harmon addressing someone’s tweet to him about dealing with depression and some of the things he said really resonated with me in this area of dealing with emotion, particularly the statement that “feelings are real, but they aren’t reality.” It is important to acknowledge and deal with your emotions, even if your logical brain can parse through and note that yes, you still may have a privileged and exceptional life overall.

So without further preamble I will now dive into my hastily thought up stages of dealing with an emotionally stressful event!

1. Shock

So no matter what it is, the first stage will grab hold quickly and unpredictably. “Shock” doesn’t necessarily mean freezing up physically in the sense you may be thinking, but instead applies to your emotional register. When the emotional registry overflows and is unable to process how you should be feeling about a situation, well, you don’t know what to do. And because there is an overflow these feelings have to go somewhere, and so they tend to leak into “logic brain” and cause your sense of reasoning to diminish momentarily. It depends on the event and person but the results can range anywhere from, indeed, freezing up and becoming emotionally cold, to an all out rage. The possibilities of shock are endless and that’s why it’s scary! Hey, you just learned a lot of bad information, good luck dealing with this. Your world is now different. Figure it out.

Shock can last anywhere from an hour to a day, but generally is passed onto the next step after you manage to get to sleep and let allow yourself some rest. But strap in, because you’re heading straight into phase two:

2. The Infinite Sadness

Hey, I stole that from Scott Pilgrim! But I think it’s a good title for where the emotional stress is taking you. On a journey straight to your own personal hell. This is it. This is the long haul. Whatever you had going on in your life that was positive before? Forget about it, throw it out, you’re done. Stage two is where you relapse into all of your worst vices and don’t even get enjoyment out of them, either.

Were you working out regularly? Stop. Planning out your time wisely and spending your money only where you needed to? Please. Now you’re a wreck. You’re gonna eat fast food, shop on the internet haphazardly, and worst of all you’re gonna be cognizant of the fact that this is all a terrible way to be handling things.

The infinite sadness is “infinite” because there’s truly no telling how long this stage will last. This is the difficult one to pull yourself out of, but eventually you’ll reach stage three...

3. Clarity

You’ll wake up one day and realize that things aren’t so bad! Everything actually is going to be okay, and that thing that you were stressed out about? That’s not worth your energy. The world is yours for the taking and being sad about things out of your control are the incorrect applications of your abilities. However the unfortunate thing about clarity is that it tends to come in moments, which leads you to stage four...

4. The Infinite Sadness (Part Two)

You’re back! You thought it would be that easy? Hahahaha, no. See no matter how much logic you want to apply to a situation like this there is an actual amount of baggage you’re going to have to sort through inside yourself, whether you realize the process is happening or not. That’s why this stage is aptly titled the “infinite” sadness, because it may seem to last an eternity.

You’ll rinse and repeat stage three and four a great many times, and it will be genuinely difficult to gauge when you’re ready to truly move on. This will add fuel to the fire which will make you start to feel even harder on yourself. You’ll begin to believe the part of you that tells you you’re not worth it. Once again, even if you know none of this is true, “logic brain” has now become a backseat driver. You’re trapped.

Until one day, instead of a false moment of clarity, you truly do move on...

5. Detachment

This part feels weird because... it doesn’t feel at all. Suddenly numbness is a welcome reprieve from the waves of the infinite sadness. You no longer feel happy, but you don’t feel sad either. In fact you don’t feel much of anything. You continue your life as normal. You’re still set in your vices but you’re not beating yourself up for indulging in those anymore, either. You’re simply going through the motions. “Logic brain,” somewhere far away, tells you that things are going to be okay, but even still you don’t care about that either.

Everything is dull, meaningless, and at least it doesn’t feel bad. This is, somehow, a good thing. Because after a short stay here you can finally head onto...

6. Recovery

This is the long climb up. As you slowly start to feel your emotional limbs again you realize that you’ve spent way too much time wallowing. Perhaps more time than you should have allowed yourself (although let’s be honest, the time frame was never up to you). The weird part about the recovery process is that you’ll spend a lot of time still going through the motions of the person that was build throughout the previous stages. You’ll continue to make mistakes. Indulge in those vices. A stray sad thought will shatter through your psyche in a burst of what feels like inverse clarity. But you’re gaining control again, you know what you must do, and you’re making the steps to get there.

And you’re going to get there.

And things will be okay.

You know they will.