#a vague conglomerate of me actually talking about my problems

[that1badassbitch]

Tag Venting

[veliseraptor]

☕️ found family (I see a lot of talk that fandom ruined it lately, I think you have the same feelings if I remember right? and maybe I follow the right kind of people because I didn't notice how it's not cool anymore)

I feel like I haven't seen a lot of people talking about fandom ruining it - I've really only just started seeing people talk about not being totally enamoured with the execution as it's frequently done, which has been kind of nice for me to see as someone who has been kind of grumpy about it lately.

let me say first off that I'm not inherently opposed to the concept - in fact at its base I am often fond of the concept, in terms of "misfit groups that come together by a mixture of chance and choice who have no preexisting connections but make them for themselves." I'm into that! that could describe a lot of groups of characters I really like! (much as I'm also a fan of messy fucked up actual family dynamics.) where I start to run into problems is in a few places.

one is something a post I reblogged a little bit ago (that was in my queue for a while) about found family dynamics in fandom often circling around to become replications of heteronormative family units - i.e. with a mom and a dad and the kids (and if you're adventurous, aunts and uncles and cousins). once you start thinking about this it's sort of everywhere, and while it doesn't always piss me off it often does bug me, because it basically takes a self-constructed group of people with a whole range of relationships to each other and goes "well we have to make sure all of these fit neatly into a traditional nuclear family role, regardless of how well it may suit the characters or their relationships to each other."

and I'm just not into that! if I'm looking at that kind of conglomeration of outsiders/misfits who have made their own home, I am very unlikely to want them to perfectly match American traditional family dynamics. I want them to be found family not in the sense of "mom and dad and kids" but in the sense of "community held together because they love each other very much and the shape of those connections doesn't have to fit within a defined or analogous existing role as envisioned by the (American) definition of "family."" it feels like it's reducing a potentially really interesting way of breaking relationship molds and moving away from strict definitions of what those relationship molds mean or are expected to look like into something that's just...same old, and often poorly suited to the characters it's trying to fit into the relevant boxes.

the second is...a little thornier, and a little bitchier, and a little more personal, and I was referring to it a little bit in this post about what I specifically want from a found family type dynamic, which is to say "if it isn't messy and complicated and maybe at least a little toxic some of the time what's the point."

I think I've come to associate the term "found family" and to a certain extent the concept and its execution with a brand of...augh, I don't want to say tweeness but sort of. a similar vibe to what I was talking about a while back re: my problems with a lot of recent sci-fi/fantasy - that it refers to a kind of softness and gentleness and conflictless utopia that my cranky, wizened little heart just cannot stand. I simply do not care for it. it's nice? I guess? but it feels... [vague hand gestures]. idk. toothless. dull.

I get the desire for found family as a comforting alternative for a lot of people. and I don't think that's not valuable. but I do think that something gets lost if all the potential sharp edges get filed off so that everyone is just happy and fine and in harmony with each other. though maybe that something getting lost is nothing but "my interest."

I wrote in the tags of the first post I mentioned (the one about heteronormative dynamics) that while I'm not actually turned off the concept of "found family" as a thing, I pretty much don't use the phrase itself anymore, because it comes with a lot of baggage and associations that have come to set my teeth very much on edge. maybe I'm just too cranky for a lot of...modern fandom? modern sff? both? who knows.

unless I'm talking about yi city. yi city found family is real. and that's at least partially because I think it's funny.

[pertinax--loculos]

Character Study: TJ (1)

[Note: LEAH is essentially my federal law enforcement branch. It stands for Law Enforcement Agency Headquarters -- I know, I know, most generic name in the history of existence, but I couldn’t resist the acronym. :D]

1. Intro My name is not Tyler Jameson.

Maybe it was, once, but it’s not any more. I’m as much a Jameson as my mother was. I just wish it was as easy for me to escape the shadow of my name.

But, god, my father would have a fucking fit if I tried. Even the thought of it gives me a headache. So I just go by TJ.

Working for Tegotex came about pretty much as a direct result of trying to put as much distance between my name and myself as possible. My father naturally wanted me to go into the family business. Strike that, my father assumed I was going into the family business. So becoming a Handler was as much a fuck you to him as it was borne of desire.

I guess you’d look at what being a Handler entails and think I could’ve just become a cop, or applied to LEAH, or whatever. If I just wanted to work with criminals, or power trip, or chase some thrill, surely there would’ve been simpler approach than getting into bed with a shady as fuck conglomerate with vague and ill-defined principles hidden behind buzzwords like consensual and opportunity and second chances. And, yeah, I guess that’s true. If that was what I wanted.

But it wasn’t those parts of the job that I found attractive. It wasn’t the part where I was able to screw over my father. It wasn’t even to do with my flow, which… frankly, is a whole other story.

It was the people.

Tegotex is very, very selective about the individuals they choose to approach about the entrustee program. Partly that’s cuz they need to be certain they’re only, uh, employing a certain type of personality, but even that is left by the wayside if the person is skilled enough. Interesting enough. Valuable enough.

And because of that, the entrustees tend towards a certain… type. One that I just… have a way with.

Tash reckons I could’ve become a psychologist, or a social worker, or whatever bullshit. Parole officer, maybe. Someone who deals with people who have Issues, who is able to get on their level, who can bolster and encourage and guide without ever patronising or judging or commanding. She’s probably right. The pay probably would’ve been better.

But those jobs would have impressed my father, which meant they were out of the question.

I think Tash misses the obvious when she talks about my having an actual helping people career, too, which is the reason that I’m so effective at guiding people past their problems and defusing tense situations and seeing the potential beyond someone’s current situation is… well. Experience.

Anyway.

Becoming a Handler pissed my father off, and the work lends itself perfectly to my particular set of skills. So yeah. Really it was a no-brainer.

Flint wasn’t part of the plan.

[zenithlux]

Cadence - CH 9

Welcome back everyone! I really hope you enjoy this update, and I’ll see you later for my second to last Hanami Week post!

Catch up on the story here!

In which Vergil meets Diadona, and learns a bit more about Roxy’s strange problem.

I can’t feel my senses I just feel the cold All colors seem to fade away I can’t reach my soul

Frozen - Within Temptation

----------------

In hindsight, Vergil’s thirty-minute timeline was more of a formality than an actual constraint. His trip to Fortuna took ten minutes tops, as he hadn’t even needed a portal to sneak by the two dozing security room guards in the train station. There were a decent amount of boxes, but finding her name was easy enough. Roxanna Montgomery. Had she ever mentioned a last name? Not that he could recall, but it did sound familiar…

He filed it away for later. Maybe Dante would know something.

But that would require talking to his brother about her. So… maybe not.

“Fighting” the Behemoths- if one could even call the slaughter such a thing - had taken even less time than retrieving the boxes. And, as expected, he’d absorbed their essence in the blink of an eye. That then led to thoughts on just how exactly this unknown demon woman planned to take it from him, which made him wonder what exactly he had gotten himself into. 

But I don’t know who else to call. 

Vergil sighed in resignation as he retrieved the boxes from the safety of the closest rooftop. Unfortunately, he’d never received the message with her address. He did remember a vague mention of it from a few weeks prior. Which might have been helpful, if there weren’t five different “haunted” apartment complexes in the area (honestly he didn’t know why humans in need of shelter couldn’t get over such a foolish notion). And without Roxy’s address, (what was taking her so long?) all he could do was wander between each of them, searching for the incredibly minuscule smell of Aki that would likely go the other direction because of the wind. 

Wonderful. 

Finally, he found it; the only apartment in all five complexes that had the lights on. Vergil blinked up the stairs with ease, balancing the boxes in one hand to knock.

“Come in, come in.” A voice said before he could. “We don’t have all day.” 

Roxy’s apartment was larger than Vergil expected with a modest amount of furniture and a television that Dante would envy. The floors were made of light wood and partially covered with a dark blue rug decorated with intricate swirl patterns. The walls were painted a matching dark blue, but the numerous, brightly colored paintings and the wall of windows brightened the room considerably. Vergil might have examined it more, if Roxy wasn’t unconscious on the couch with Aki mewling in pure sadness on her lap. 

“About time!” 

Diadona was much shorter than he expected, with the top of her head barely reaching past his stomach. She was another elder demon for certain, though it was impossible to know exactly how old. Her human-self looked to be around 60 with short gray hair pulled back into an overly tight bun, glasses that she most certainly didn’t need, and far too many wrinkles. Vergil wondered if she always adopted this look, or if it was just a formality for Roxy’s sake. Which then led him to wonder what her actual…

“Did you kill the creatures?” The woman said, her voice sharp. 

Vergil blinked, mind reeling back to where it was supposed to be. “Of course,” He said simply. “Now how do you intend to take it from me?”

The woman rolled her eyes as she pulled an absurdly long needle and syringe from her pocket. Of course, that pocket was far too small for something like that… so maybe she’d just made it on the spot. “The simple way, of course.” She said as she beckoned to him with spindly fingers that were a touch too inhuman. “I’ll take it right out of your bloodstream.”

Vergil’s eyebrow shot up. “I’m not sure that’s wise.”

Dia huffed. “Why? Because you’re a big scary demon yourself? Please.” She beckoned again. “If anything, your blood will only make her stronger. A win-win, wouldn’t you say?”

Vergil didn’t have an answer to that. Foolish, was the first word that came to mind. What demon in their right mind would willingly give their blood to anyone, much less an archdemon? Or, more importantly, what demon would willingly give their blood to a summoner?  He knew from limited research that was an easy first step into pact making. He could even sort of recall his mother mentioning it when he was much younger. Of course, it didn’t mean they were making one… but it opened up the possibility.

Whether it was his expression or his hesitation, Dia laughed. Except her human voice mixed with some strange cackle of a demon he couldn’t quite identify. A bug? Maybe. A dragon? Maybe. Some crazy, witch thing? A strong possibility.

Did it matter?

“Do you honestly think she’d force you into a pact?”

“What?”

“Even if she wanted to do such a thing, I don’t think her body could handle it.” She shook her head with an irritated click of her tongue. “Now are we going to keep standing around staring at each other, or are you going to let me heal her?”

Begrudgingly, Vergil rolled his sleeve up, glaring at the woman as he did so. It was a useless gesture, but at least it made him feel better. She just rolled her eyes again and grabbed his wrist. Except he sorely underestimated the strength in such a small body, and nearly fell flat on his face when she yanked him closer. “Hold still,” She snapped before muttering something in a language he didn’t understand. He did, however, know it wasn’t anything helpful. 

But then his eyes flickered to Roxy, and any response he might have had vanished in an instant. She was so… pale. Had she been that pale when he walked in? Was she breathing? She had to be… right? Aki was still there - the poor creature was butting the top of his head on her chin over and over again - so she was alive. But…

“She’s close to stasis,” Dia said, her voice filled with nothing but worry. “This happens from time to time. She usually has a caretaker around but…” Her expression turned sour. “Let’s just say I’m glad she was able to call me in time.” 

“Stasis?”

Dia nodded as she tied a small piece of fabric above his elbow. “How much has she told you?”

“Nothing about this.”

Dia sighed. “This should be her story… but…” She glanced back at Roxy. “This is what she refers to as an ‘episode’” Dia turned her attention to his arm, searching for a vein. “I call it stasis because that’s what it is.” She grumbled something under her breath, but all he could pick up on was “humans” and “avoiding the problem”. “Nothing can prevent it, but she needs demon essence to recover. If she were by herself, then she would have to stay like that until her body recovered naturally.”

“How long does that take?”

Dia shrugged. “The longest I’ve seen is three months.”

His eyes snapped to hers. “Three months?”

“I broke her out of that one too,” Dia said. “Hold still.” 

He hadn’t even noticed the needle pierce his skin. “Her last caretaker quit, right?”

“Taylor?” Dia’s scowl turned murderous. “I never liked that woman. Flighty. Greedy. Did you know she convinced Roxy to pay for years of medical bills in exchange for her help?” Vergil wasn’t certain why Dia thought he would ever know something like that, but she continued on anyway. “Then she left her stranded, less than a month from stasis, because she needed something more ‘stable’ and ‘predictable’.” Dia huffed as she practically ripped the needle from his arm. It healed in an instant, but how she knew it would (or if she even cared) was beyond him. “Come here before I wake her up,” She said. “I’ll apologize to her for talking to you later.”

After a small, almost curious step, Vergil realized that Roxy’s skin wasn’t pale; it was frozen. His mind raced through memories of V, trying to piece together what could possibly be happening. The closest connection was his crumbling body, but that hadn’t been linked to the familiars. Though he’d argue that none of them even compared to Kuro. Nightmare had been a mostly mindless conglomerate he could summon from time to time. Griffon and Shadow were more like Aki; small familiars that didn’t require much. But Kuro...

Was this the price she had paid for such a creature?

“Stasis,” Dia repeated. “If left unattended, the ice will imprison her. Then there’s nothing I can do,” She gently pulled Roxy’s arm from under the blanket, turning it over in her hand as if handling the most fragile glass imaginable. And maybe she was. Vergil didn’t want to think what would happen if she moved too quickly… or if Roxy herself were found or handled too roughly… or if she was left alone for too long...

He shoved those thoughts aside. Why bother worrying when Dia clearly had things under control? He barely knew her. He shouldn’t be concerned about such things. He...

His mental image of Griffon snorted in pure disdain. And you think I’m the moron.

After resting Roxy’s arm back on the armrest, Dia tapped it gently with the tip of her finger. A quiet crack echoed in the room. Another tap. Another crack. The process was agonizingly slow, but Dia continued on. By the fifth tap, a thin layer of ice broke away, shattering to dust on the ground. Vergil swore he heard a quiet gasp, but he wasn’t certain. Aki pushed his head against Roxy’s cheek. That time, he didn’t pull away, and a sad chirp echoed in Vergil’s ears as if the little griffon had proclaimed it from the heavens. 

It was then that Vergil wondered if Roxy was aware of it. She left her stranded a month from stasis, Dia had said. So Roxy must have known about it. But if she did… why didn’t she tell him? Sure, he wouldn’t have been much help over the last few days, but Dante would have taken a job like that in an instant. “Gather up some demon bodies?” Dante would have probably said. “You’ve got it! I’ll drop them at your doorstep tomorrow.” His brother wasn’t really one to ask questions over such a thing (even though he probably should… but that wasn't the point).

What would something like this feel like? What would any of this feel like? Was she awake? Trapped in her body until it knocked her out? Did she know time was moving? Or was she asleep, trapped in some kind of dream? 

Did she feel… anything at all?

Did he even want to know? 

“Hold on, Rox,” Dia whispered. “You’ll be out of this soon.”

The world seemed to go silent as the needle punctured her skin. The noises from the town slipped away. Dia went impossibly still, and Vergil was certain she’d stopped breathing all together. The blood left the syringe slowly, but Vergil could see trails of ice branching back down Roxy’s arm in a rush to close the hole Dia had made. And when the blood was gone and Dia pulled away, the ice snapped closed again. More slipped over her cheeks. Lines of blue magic scattered in all directions. 

Was he too late? Was it not enough? Was…?

Then, Roxy’s eyes snapped open. A single gasp of air was all it took for the world to come back. Ice shattered in all directions, vanishing into the air as if it had never existed. She jerked upright in a panic as her hand flew to her chest. Aki tumbled to the floor, but the flustered noise he made was twinged with a chirp of what Vergil assumed was relief. Roxy’s eyes flickered a pale blue. Kuro’s, Vergil realized. So she could channel the dragon’s power without summoning him… but maybe not willingly. 

“It’s alright, Rox,” Dia said as her hand cradled the younger summoner. Roxy’s gaze snapped to hers, and her heartbeat quickened to an unnatural level. But Dia only smiled, rubbing her now entirely human thumbs along Roxy’s skin. “Everything’s fine, you hear me?” And while Roxy said nothing, Vergil heard her breathing slow. Her eyes drifted closed as she squeezed Dia’s hand. When she opened them again, her heart was steady and her eyes were back to their usual green hue.

“That was faster than I expected,” Roxy said. “I thought I had… a little more time.” She sighed as her gaze flickered to Vergil. “Less than thirty minutes…” She said, and Vergil wasn’t certain if she was talking about him, or her stasis. It probably didn’t matter. At least, not at the moment.

“I’m sorry you had to see this.”

Vergil stared at her. A million different questions swirled in his head, right alongside a few choice words to chide her for being so foolish. But all that came out was, “What?”

“That mixture I gave you was quite potent,” Dia said proudly as Aki hopped back into her lap. “And with the blood of Sparda’s kin…” She shook her head with a sigh that sounded almost nostalgic. “You’ll be good for a few months, at least.”

“A few months?” Vergil said. “That’s…”

“Quite impressive!” Dia said, cutting off his less than enthusiastic reply. “You should be proud!’

“Proud?” Vergil said. “I have the most…”

“Powerful demonic blood there is?” Dia said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Afraid there are quite a few demons that would disagree with you.”

Vergil huffed. “And they’d be wrong.”

“Probably.” Dia waved him off. “Doesn’t matter.”

And Vergil might have argued with her more, if Roxy didn’t look so miserable. For a brief moment, that annoyed him more than the demon-turned-grandmother. “Is a few months not enough for you?”

Roxy flinched, and Vergil bit back a quiet groan at how utterly terrible that sounded once he’d actually said it. It didn’t help that Dia was glaring at him with the intensity of a thousand suns, probably wishing she could smite him for such a statement. “It’s very generous,” Roxy said. “And I appreciate it.” But her voice was so, unbearably quiet. So sad in a way Vergil hadn’t heard before. And he realized very quickly that he hated it with a burning passion.

Why did it bother him so much?

Why did he feel this… obligation to help?

He forced himself to sit beside her, but not before casually moving a few of the pillows between them. He heard Dia snort in the background, but he didn’t pay her any mind. “How does this work?” He said. “All of…” He paused. “Kuro. You. The stasis.”

Her head rose slowly, but the confusion was evident in her eyes. “Wh-what?” She stammered. “You… You want to know? But…” Vergil wasn’t certain if her expression was one of shock,  disbelief, or something else he couldn’t read. Regardless, it slipped away when she took a long, deep breath. “Are you sure? It’s not the most…” She trailed off, head tilting in thought. “Glamorous of… situations.”

“Seems marginally better than calling me ten minutes before you turn into an ice sculpture.”

She paused, flummoxed. “That’s a rather dramatic way of putting it. But you’re not entirely wrong.”

“I believe,” Dia said, drawing out the statement for an extraordinarily long time. “That it’s time for my departure. You can handle it from here, right?” She raised her eyebrow at Vergil. When he simply stared back, she said, “She needs to hunt once she can walk again, and...” She paused, glancing at Roxy. “When was the last time you ate?” Roxy’s mouth opened for a split second, but she quickly closed it and looked away. Dia sighed. “And maybe make her some soup.”

Then she was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving only glimmers of green magic behind. “She does that, a lot,” Roxy said. “Though she’s usually kind enough to knock when she visits.”

“Considerate.”

Vergil didn’t know how to explain the peculiar feeling in his chest when she giggled “Could be worse,” She said. “Her last husband was the worst.” A curious sparkle returned to her eyes, and Vergil didn’t have the heart to stop whatever story she was about to tell him. “He’d never left the Underworld before meeting her. So, when she visited me for the first time, she brought him along. Next thing I knew, he’d eaten all of my food, most of it uncooked, and was trying to convince Aki to tell him where I got it from.” Aki growled, his tail flicking upward in annoyance. But Roxy just smiled and brushed through his fur. He purred as he nuzzled back into her lap, annoying demon husbands forgotten entirely. “The second time, he ordered two dozen pizzas, and paid with my card.”

“... And you’re certain this wasn’t Dante?”

“Is he a big pizza guy?”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

She laughed again, but Vergil saw her eyes flutter as she attempted to hide the following yawn. “I should probably talk to him a bit more, huh?”

Vergil scowled. “That’s not…” He trailed off, averting his gaze. 

“Not what?”

“You need to rest.”

“Now you’re dodging the question.” But even she relented after another yawn and sunk back into the cushions. “I’ll probably be asleep for… awhile. But Aki knows when to wake me up.”

“You can’t hunt like this.”

“I mean once the feeling in my legs comes back…”

“I will stay,” He said. “And you still owe me an explanation.”

Her eyes drifted closed. “How much do you really want to know?”

Vergil paused, but not for long. “Go to sleep.” 

“Because you need some time?” He glared at her, not surprised when her lips curved into a soft, and very tired smile. “If you need anything,” She mumbled. “There’s plenty of food, tea, and coffee. There’s the T.V, of course, but I’m assuming you’d be more interested in the books... in the room down… the…” She slipped into sleep before she finished. 

“Insufferable,” Vergil muttered. Aki chirped something akin to an agreement as he nuzzled against Roxy, tail flopping to the side. And Vergil might have pondered what exactly he was trying to accomplish here, had an all too familiar ringtone not gone off at that exact moment. He answered it begrudgingly, fully aware that ignoring his brother would only make things worse. 

“So, Verge,” Dante said without any form of pleasantries. Vergil could imagine the grin on his brother’s face. “Out with sunshine again?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Well, technically...”

“I’m on a job,” Vergil said. “I’ll return once it’s done.”

Dante laughed. “Sure sure, whatever you say. But does it at least pay well? Because we could really use some money for…”

Vergil hung up. 

Ko-fi -- Master List -- AO3

[nexttrickanvils]

Day 5 of @shuharuweek: AU/Song & Dance

Yup it’s time for more roleswap AU. So enjoy Haru starting up the Empress Confidant. ;)

Title: Foolish Empress: Empress Confidant Rank 1

Characters: Fool!Haru, Empress!Akira, Morgana, others are there briefly

---------

It was official… the Phantom Thieves were low on money.

Then again Haru shouldn’t be too surprised. After all between buying new weapons for everyone and buying a cell phone for Yusuke so he could actually communicate with the rest of the team it was no wonder that their funds were low.

Haru pulls up the group chat to let everyone know what was going on.

HARU:  Some bad news. I just looked at our funds and we’re running low. We may have to make do with our current equipment and supplies.

ANN: Can’t we just hold up some Shadows in Mementos?

RYUJI: Yeah but we just finished up Madarame’s palace. I wanna take a break before we get back to work.

HARU: I agree with Ryuji-kun, I don’t want you all to overwork yourselves.

YUSUKE: I apologize. I know you three had to use that money for this phone and equipment for me.

ANN: Yusuke, don’t. You needed a phone and like hell was Madarame gonna give you one.

RYUJI: Yeah and we couldn’t let you face shadows without good stuff. Plus we all bought new junk so it ain’t all on you.

YUSUKE: I appreciate your words but that still leaves us with our current situation.

HARU: I guess the best option would be take a job. I saw some job postings at the subway, maybe I can take a look at those.

ANN: You sure Haru? You just said you didn’t want us to overwork ourselves.

HARU: I’ll be fine Ann-chan, thank you.

With that Haru closed the app and put her phone away. From his spot next to her on the bed, Morgana gives her a concerned look.

“I think Lady Ann has a point. You can’t lead Les Fantômes if you exhaust yourself.” said Morgana

Haru smiles in response and starts petting her (not) feline companion

“I appreciate that you’re all looking out for me but we can’t solely rely on the Metaverse for our money. I promise that I’ll be looking for something that’s simple and won’t take too much time.”

“...Well I should come with you and help, just in case.”

Haru briefly thinks of saying to Morgana that he’s always with her outside but instead she just thanks him.

---------

“How about this one? It’s that beef bowl place in Shibuya.” Morgana said as he looked at the flyer from over Haru’s shoulder

“I don’t know. I’ve been there with Ryuji once. It was so crowded and there weren’t a lot of people working that night.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad if they hired more people.”

“I suppose, let’s consider it a “maybe.””

So far the job search turned out to be more difficult than Haru thought. There certainly wasn’t a lack of openings but for one reason or another they simply didn’t fit what Haru was looking for. One didn’t work because she was too young to apply, another was too strict with its scheduling, and so on.

“This one won’t do at all.”

But she refused to give up.

“Hm… not this one.”

There had to be something…

“No...”

...Just right…

“Oh! Mona-chan look at this one!”

Rafflesia Flower Shop Now Hiring!

Located in Underground Mall at Shibuya Station

Looking for charming employees to build and give our customers their dream bouquets.

Willing to provide flexible hours

Starting salary is 3200 yen.

Haru smiles as she pulls out her phone and calls the number on the flyer.

---------

“Thank you for taking this position, Kurusu-chan. I can tell that you’ll be a very good fit for Rafflesia.”

Haru gave her thanks to Hanasaki-san as she tied the apron around her waist.

“Now Kurusu-chan since this is your first day, I’m going to ask you to shadow me and Amamiya-kun. We’ll do the work and you observe us and try to learn the ropes.”

“Amamiya-kun?”

“Another employee, he’ll be here soon. Just keep your eye out for a young man about your age with dark hair and glasses. Now let’s get to work shall we?”

Haru did as she was told for the shift, learning as much as she can about the job from Hanasaki-san, and all the while keeping her eyes out for someone matching her co-worker’s description.

She was in the middle of watching her boss put together a bouquet of scarlet roses, care-nation, and justice jasmines when Amamiya-san arrived.

He was just as Hansaki-san described though Haru couldn’t help but giggle a little over how his headband was just barely containing his mess of hair. Thankfully he didn’t seem to hear (or mind) Haru’s laughing and instead went straight to their boss.

“I apologize for taking so long Hanasaki-san.”

“It’s no problem. Kurusu-chan, this is Ren Amamiya. Amamiya-kun, this is our new hire, Haru Kurusu. She’ll be shadowing you for the rest of the shift. So give her a good example to follow, alright?”

“Heh, heh, don’t worry I will.”

Amamiya then turned to Haru and smiled. For a brief moment she felt her breath caught in her throat.

“It’s nice to meet you Kurusu-chan. It’s good for have an extra set of hands here.”

“Oh! I-I I’m glad to be here.”

For the rest of the shift, Haru watched and followed Amamiya-kun. His passion for the job was something to be admired. He happily explained the different meanings of each flower, connecting those meanings to the type of bouquets people wanted, and really laid on the charm for the customers.

Honestly Haru found herself blushing more than once.

She was so focused on him, that she almost didn’t notice when Hanasaki-san approached her with an envelope of money.

“Here’s your pay for today. It’s just standard wages. Good work, Kurusu-chan. Come back again when you have the time.”

“Thank you, I will.”

She waved good-bye to her co-workers and made her way to the train back to Yongen-Jaya

---------

As soon as the bell rung, Haru made her way upstairs to meet with Ann and Ryuji to discuss going into Mementos today.

Just as she reached the second-year’s floor, Haru found herself nearly crashing into another student.

“Oh, my apologies...!”

“It’s fine Kurusu-chan I wasn’t looking where I was going and...”

Wait “Kurusu-chan?”

Haru looked up to face the student and found herself at a loss for words.

The boy in front of her wore a black sweater over his school turtleneck but what caught her attention was his messy dark hair and grey eyes. If he pulled his bangs back and wore a pair of glasses he’d look just like...

“...Amamiya-kun?”

“I-I’m sorry! Y-you must have me mistaken for-for s-some... ” and with that the boy rushed downstairs.

---------

The next day, Amamiya-kun didn’t arrive at work. Hanasaki-san had said that he called in sick but after what happened yesterday, Haru couldn’t help but worry. Why did he run away when she recognized him? Not to mention how different he was from the charming confident young man at the flower shop. Was he hiding something?

Whatever was wrong, she wanted to help him. She wasn’t going to let someone struggle in silence.

For the next few days at school, Haru kept her eyes open for Amamiya. She tried to ask around about him but anyone who was actually willing to talk to her only seemed to vaguely know who she was talking about.

She finally found him one day, exiting the library with a small stack of books.

“There you are!”

The dark-haired boy froze and looked at Haru with a nervous expression.

“Please don’t run away. I just wanted to talk, I’ve been worried about you.”

“Wait… Worried? About me?”

“You haven’t been to work since we bumped into each other the other day. Is there something the matter Amamiya-kun? Please whatever it is, I want to help...”

With some hesitance, Amamiya walked toward Haru.

“I’ll explain, just follow me.”

The two make their way outside the building and eventually sat down in one of the alcoves by the vending machines.

Amamiya looks around to see if anyone was near, takes a deep breath, and faces Haru.

“The truth is… my name isn’t Ren Amamiya. It’s Akira. The glasses and the headband are part of the… mask I wear for lack of a better word.”

“Why use a fake name? Why disguise yourself… are you in trouble Ama… I mean Akira-kun?”

Akira sighs, “No but I would be. Certain people in my life… wouldn’t approve of my choice of hobby. They want me to be more of a proper gentleman and well “proper gentlemen ” don’t plant and tend flowers. So I came up with the disguise so I could just get away from my regular life and do something I love. When you recognized me here, I was afraid that word would spread and everyone would find out.”

Haru sadly stares at him. She can’t imagine what it must be like to hide your passion in such a way. Without even thinking, Haru places her hand on top of Akira’s.

“Kurusu-chan?”

“Please, just call me Haru. And I promise Akira-kun, your secret is safe with me. You obviously care about working at the shop and it makes you happy. I never want to take that away from you. And if you ever need someone to confide in, I’ll be there.”

A tinge of pink covers Akira’s cheeks before he smiles.

“I… thank you Haru-chan.”

Haru squeezes Akira’s hand as she can feel a new power within her and time seeming to stop.

---------

She felt dizzy, her mouth was dry, and everything hurt.

Haru faced Niijima-san who seemed to pondering something.

“One of your later jobs involved probing into a certain conglomerate. There’s a possibility you even infiltrated their company building. Perhaps you had some sort of connection… Tell me about this person.”

Just as before with Niijima-san’s previous questions about her confidants, Haru stayed silent.

---------

I am thou, thou art I…

Thou hast acquired a new vow.

It shall become the wings of rebellion

That breaketh thy chains of captivity.

With the birth of the Empress Persona,

I have obtained the winds of blessing that

Shall lead to freedom and new power…

Akira cleared his throat and Haru immediately pulled her hand away.

“I’m sorry, I just kind of...”

“N-no it’s fine. I just… I know I already said it but thank you. I’ll be back at Rafflesia in a couple days. Then… then maybe I’ll take you up on your offer. I should head home now, my father’s… well I don’t want to worry him. I’ll see you later, Haru-chan.”

“See you later, Akira-kun.”

She waved goodbye as Akira walked away. However she soon heard a familiar laugh from her bag. Haru quickly opened it up and found Morgana grinning like… well like the cat that caught the canary.

“Mona-chan, I thought you were napping! How much of that did you hear?”

“Enough. Don’t worry I won’t tell anyone about your boyfriend.”

With that Haru zipped her bag back up, stood up, and made her way to the station. All the while ignoring Morgana’s protests.

[they-need-a-revolutionary]

(about the shoes thing with Cinder) it's cause Meyer knows jack shit about East Asian cultures

wow that’s true facts. sorry my response is so late btw this has been in my inbox forever.

i’d like to preface this by saying that marissa meyer is a wonderful person and i’ve been fortunate enough to meet her twice. i strongly support all of the diversity in her work. also i haven’t read renegades yet so this is all just based on what i’ve seen in the lunar chronicles, and i’m going to focus mainly on racial diversity at this time.

mm truly does make a great effort to include characters of all racial and ethnic backgrounds. however, she has a problem with making her diversity realistic and doing real life research when writing characters of color. she bases her non-white characters off of her very limited experience and basic knowledge of their cultures, traditions, etc. ofc it’s not her fault as she is a christian white woman living in the sheltered suburbs of seattle. while tacoma is technically less white than seattle, it’s also wayyyyy more segregated. i’m pretty sure her only real exposure to asian culture was a trip to china when she was like 13, and reading manga that she got at an asian store (i promise i’m not a stalker all this stuff is either from her website, instagram, or from an interview she did at the end of cinder). and that’s only 2 of the 48 countries in asia.

in a well-meaning effort to avoid limiting non-white characters’ identities to their race, she also ends up leaving it “open to interpretation” which can go all kinds of wrong. she keeps all the descriptions of cinder, wolf, etc. vague in the books and you really only get the details of them if you go to mm’s website, and even then you still have to fill in some of the blanks for yourself. don’t get me wrong, i actually appreciate some of the ambiguousness. i’ve seen many instances of asian fans headcanoning cinder as their own ethnicity (including myself) and it’s great that so many people can relate and feel connected. on the other hand, if you aren’t a hardcore fan or haven’t looked at mm’s website, it’s really easy to assume cinder is white, especially on your first read like i did. iirc, cinder’s canon tan skin is only mentioned very briefly once or twice in the first book, and by the time you finish reading, you can already have a pretty concrete image in your mind of a white girl, despite it being totally illogical considering the entire plot and setting of the story. I wrote another piece about whitewashing in media as well which you can find here if you want a more in-depth explanation. (honestly just search “whitewashing” on my blog if you want to read even more)

there’s also this other problem with the “eastern commonwealth” in general. rather than preserving each individual asian culture and its unique aspects, she mashes them all into one mega-conglomerate amalgamation of “oriental-ness”. somebody on tumblr wrote a great post about this regarding avatar: the last airbender but i can’t seem to find it. i’ll update if i’m able to, but in the meantime i’ll just explain. basically it was saying that one of the best parts about avatar is that the clothes that the characters wear come from one culture each. there’s no mixing and matching of elements that would detract from the individuality of each unique and beautiful culture. but tlc doesn’t have that. one example off the top of my head is when adri, who is vietnamese-coded (i think? p sure linh is a vietnamese name, although mm specified that adri is a hindi name) is described as wearing a kimono, which is a japanese garment. obviously vietnam and japan are two very different countries with their own independent cultures. but in this instance, all of their individuality is tossed out the window because the author only felt comfortable with a few prominent aspects of the entire asian continent. again, it’s not mm’s fault that she has limited experience and knowledge regarding asian culture, but it’s pretty clear that she didn’t do very much research or even really talk to an asian person about writing a story set in asia. i guess that’s all i have to say about that.

sources:

https://www.marissameyer.com/faq/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tacoma,_Washington#Demographics

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seattle#Demographics

https://www.marissameyer.com/blogtype/the-lunar-chronicles-pronunciation-guide/

[storyunrelated]

Proper Schooling - QnA

Of course, reaching blindly out into the aether and expecting questions to come back to me was foolish. For questions to come I shall have to source them locally. And so, for that, they shall be provided by @sortyourlifeoutmate. Always happy to volunteer. Well, 'happy'.

So what is Proper Schooling?

Proper Schooling is an idea I've had in my head where several elements have stayed the same but many others have not and they've all just swilled around and none of has ever achieved anything substantial.

That doesn't actually answer my question. Bottom-line it for me.

There's a really, really big school. It's horrible and it's in a forest and it's full of lunatics. Main characters don't want to be in it anymore but events and obstacles conspire to make this difficult to achieve.

There, was that so hard? What's the main plot-thrust? Right now, at least?

What I just said. The main characters want to get out. But it's not as easy as all that, because everything they need is far away and everything keeps going wrong. And nothing makes any sense because the place is - as mentioned - infested with lunatics. In a world full of bastards. So runs the theory, anyway.

And who does it involve? Fling some dudes at me.

You got Nadir, the son designed to be a disappointment! You got Losel, the daughter who totally wasn't an accident but shouldn't exist anyway! Andrew, the boy thrown out of a plane for not being photogenic! Rip Van Reuyman, who is a house! 'Random' Johnson, who has official authority! Rembrandt Rembrandt, a girl much in demand! Maddy, the conglomerated daughter shoved into a mechanical body! And many more! Maybe.

Nice dudes. Howsabouts that setting?

Bowport Wood. Town-sized school that swallowed a village, sitting in a vast horizon-spanning forest. All the rest of the country started shoving their problem pupils there. Then their problem people. Then they realised that now they need Bowport Wood to keep them there, so Bowport Wood gets free reign to do basically whatever it wants. And it does.

What this implies about the world beyond Bowport Wood is left vague, but fairly obviously not positive.

Charming. Is there a message here? Some moral?

If you find one, I didn't put there on purpose.

What about, you know, themes? Or repeated elements?

Decay, random pointless violence, flippant responses to horrible situations, cybernetics, robots, implied cannibalism, smacking your clone sons around the head with a giant mechanical arm, infanticide, genetic engineering, legal wrangling, people being literally thrown to the wolves, the death of truth and the attempts of humans to enforce how they think the world should be onto how the world actually is etcetera, etcetera

Charming. So kid-friendly then?

Look, I don't know what kids read.

And what's the plan on how this is meant to be? Is this a novel or what? Fucking what?

I haven't got the foggiest fucking idea. Not helped by the fact that every five minutes my whole grasp of how the story is meant to play out changes. Right now - right today - I had a moment where I thought to myself "By Jove I've got it! I'll make a side-blog! And put it up in chunks! And have it all running as a constant, unfurling series of arcs! It'll be beautiful!" but then I came to my senses. That won't happen. Nothing will happen.

All a bit pointless then, really.

That's me all over.

I've come away from this learning nothing.

You're literally talking to yourself right now. You had all the answers to start with. This is basically just masturbating.

Eat a dick.

And the same to you.

[sugary-shot]

Our Waltz, a Kuroko no Basuke fanfic

Summary: Seijuro Akashi is a prodigy in the violin. However, after the tragic demise of his mother, he lost his reason to play the instrument and stopped playing altogether, locking it in a room he thought he'd never go in again.

Eight years later, a boy known as Tetsuya Kuroko entered his life and showed him his music. Will the 15 year old Seijuro learn to love it again or will he find a new reason to hate it?

[Originally posted on Wattpad]

Chapter One

"Nothing in this world is free; I know that now."

Seijuurou Akashi once wondered why his mother had always asked him to play the violin whenever he visits her at the hospital. He once wondered why his father was so strict in the violin when he was never interested in musical instruments before. He wondered why his parents always seemed like they wanted to cry whenever he plays the violin.

But now, he knows.

His mother was diagnosed with some kind of disease he didn't really know about. He didn't understand when he was a child; after all, what seven year old understood the cruelty of the world? When he played the violin the last time he met his mother at the hospital, he didn't understand why she was crying. And after he was done, she had a coughing fit and he clearly heard her last words;

"I'm glad the last thing I hear before I go is the way you play, Sei-chan. I hope I'll get to hear it again."

After that, the machine that always let out this kind of monotone beeping Seijuurou was once amused started going crazy, and his father was calling out to his mother.

The rest were all vague to him.

They were all nothing but mere blurry memories he no longer cried over.  He no longer felt the intense pain in his chest after a few weeks.  

He just felt.. empty.

Opening the door to the school's music room, he put his bag aside and stood in front of the piano, his fingers caressing the black and white keys before pressing one of them, creating a sound that resounded the silent room. Sitting down, he began playing a familiar tune; Liebestrud, Love's Joy.

Something isn't right, he thought. He stood up and took a step back and at that time, a basketball came smashing the window. He remained there, unmoving before a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

"I'll get it!" The redhead heard, and so he stood there, arms crossed as he awaited the person to reveal itself. When the door opened, the person shrieked. "Akashi-kun?!"

"Good afternoon to you too, Momoi." He answered, a smile on his lips. "Would you please explain why a basketball suddenly came here and apparently almost killed me?"

"Oh! Funny thing you asked," she began babbling to the point Akashi couldn't even understand. Raising his hand, indicating she should stop, Akashi rubbed his temples before enunciating, "When I told you to keep an eye on the basketball club, I meant to make sure they don't slack off; not try goofing around like buffoons."

"I'm sorry," Satsuki immediately apologised. The captain shook his head, "Clean this up, I'm busy." Momoi nodded, turning to a metal storage box that was placed at the back of the room, taking out a broom and a dustpan before quickly dusting the shattered glass and throwing them away.

"Akashi-kun, by busy, did you mean this?" Momoi asked after throwing the glass away. "That's right. Hanajima-sensei asked me to play the piano for an event this weekend." Momoi sat beside him, then took the music sheets. "Love's Joy? Isn't this for the violin?"

"It was originally for the violin, but there are notes for the piano." He replied. There was a quiet pause between the two before Momoi voiced her thoughts out, "Akashi-kun, are you really quitting the violin? Your mom wouldn't be happy."

"I haven't touched the violin since her death. It would take me some time before I can actually play the violin like I used to." It was a lie; he did play the violin from time to time, although it was just to check if it was still working; it was a present from his mother so even if he didn't play it anymore, he still wanted to keep it.

Momoi was his childhood friend, although they didn't really reveal it to anyone else. "You do realise you're running away, don't you, Seijuurou?" She knew about his mother's death eight years ago. She knew he was running away when he said he was going to stop playing the violin and start the piano. But she kept quiet. Although his face remained neutral, she knew that deep down, he was still hurt.

She sighed, if Akashi isn't going to say anything, then so be it.  Then, she remembered something, "Oh yeah, are  you free this Saturday?" Seijuurou turned to look at her, brows furrowed. "I am, why?" Momoi smiled. "A classmate of mine  wants to meet up with Ki-chan. Apparently, he likes him. I guess he  could attract guys, too." Ki-chan, or Kise Ryouta, was a friend the two met during grade school. Momoi actually fell for him when she saw him, a love at first sight thing but quickly got over him when she found out he was a playboy.  

"Why invite me?" Honestly, Akashi never cared who Kise dated, but since Momoi suddenly invited him to their little date, maybe it meant something interesting was going to happen; though it wasn't like she was going to spill any time soon.

"Come on, Seijuurou! You never go out with us anymore, giving excuses like you're busy and whatever! Besides, I don't want to be the lonely third wheeler!  This kid is a friend of mine and he plays the piano too! Maybe you guys could talk about it and you can actually get a new friend for once." Akashi scoffed. Nevertheless, this guy did sound interesting. "Fine, message me the information later so I can adjust my schedule. Now get out, I need to practice."

Punctuality was something that always mattered to Akashi. He couldn't be late even for a second unless he had unavoidable problems such as student council president meetings and the like. The fact that the two teenagers that told him to meet them at the nearby park at 1:30 pm sharp and yet they themselves weren't there yet certainly made him tick. He sighed, turning around and fished out his phone from his pocket to call the two before something- no, someone caught his eye.

A male around his age who possessed teal coloured hair on a tree, calling out to a black kitten. The kitten didn't look frighten, but it did crawl towards the boy; only to scratch his hand and run higher up the tree. The said boy flinched and the branch shook violently, making him lose his balance and fall.

Out of reflex, Seijuurou ran towards him with the intention of catching the latter; though he was a second too late and instead, the boy fell on top of him. Well, at least he cushioned his fall. That's something, right?

"Are you alright?" He questioned, and received a groan and a nod. "Thank you," the latter answered. Just before the heir to the Akashi conglomerate began his query, he heard the two teens he had been expecting since ten minutes ago.

"How many times do I have to tell you about punctuality?"He reiterated, sitting up as soon as the tealnette got off of him. "You are late, again. Explain." Kise clasped his hands together, immediately apologising to the former. "I'm really sorry, Akashicchi! My manager suddenly called and I had to drag Momocchi since she was with me."

Clearing his throat to announce his presence, he turned to Momoi and Kise, nodding in acknowledgement. "It's nice to meet you again, Momoi-san, Kise-kun." He turned to the redhead and nodded at him as well, "I assume you're Seijuurou Akashi? It's nice to meet you, I'm Tetsuya Kuroko. Momoi-san told me about you coming along. I apologise for dragging you into this, and thank you for cushioning my fall earlier."

Akashi was about to reply when, "Eh? Kurokocchi fell? Oh my god!" Kise immediately pulled the latter towards him, checking if he had any injuries or not. "I presume you already met Ryota before?" The latter nodded. "Well, the pleasure's all mine. Also Ryota, please stop harassing Kuroko in public; it's indecent."

Kise gasped at the other's statement. "It is not! Right, Kurokocchi?" But the response he received was, "Honestly Kise-kun, I'd rather have you keeo your hands to yourself. Thank you for worrying about me, though." At that time, all of them could see Kise , the oh so famous model slowly having a mental break down.

"So, where are we going?" Momoi decided to leave the blond to suffer alone, then saw the violin case that Tetsuya was carrying. "Tetsu-kun, did you have violin class before you came here?"

"Ah," he turned to look at his violin case and shifted, not noticing the redhead beside him staring at the case since earlier. "No, actually. I have a piano recital today."

"Piano recital? Then why did you bring that violin?" Kise, rising from the mental break down, looked puzzled. "Well," he turned to Akashi, "when I heard that Seijuurou Akashi was coming, I thought of giving him my old violin. I'm not using it anymore, so you can have it. And I'm not taking no for an answer." He shoved the said casing to the other, and the redhead took a step back. "Pardon?"

"You heard me," Kuroko replied. "So, a piano recital? When is it?" Kuroko turned to look at his watch, his eyes widening ever so slightly. "It's about to start."

Silence.

Punctuality was  something that always mattered to Akashi

"Then what are we standing here for? Let's go!" Momoi shrieked. Akashi on the other hand, was stunned. Okay, hold the fuck up; he almost got killed, he got dragged to be a third wheeler, he literally got sat on, he got a violin from someone he never even knew about, and now he's being dragged to this piano recital? Okay, he honestly loved the piano -not as much as the violin, though-, but this was too much for him. He was already having a headache.

"You guys can go on ahead, I think I'll pass." He turned around but before he could walk away, his wrist was grabbed by the male who started the whole shenanigans.

"You come too!"

Decided to edit the whole goddamn story. I,, I didn't know how to end the chapter so I decided to bullshit my way through. Yeah. Hope you liked it!

« Previous ¦ Next »

[thisgingerneedsherjinglejuice]

Beca Mitchell hadn’t ever pictured kids as part of her life. She realizes that that’s probably not a shocking thing to hear, given one look at her.

Successful producer and artist who has a busy life in the music industry? A propensity to always don leather on her person in some form? Multiple tattoos and a blatantly displayed “fuck off” attitude? A habit of getting in trouble for lashing out at paparazzi? Check, check, check, and check.

Oh, and, you know - a wife.

But, truth be told, Beca wasn’t really completely opposed to the idea. Beyond her plans to make a career out of music, Beca’s idea of the future had always been incredibly vague – probably marry some cute guy, maybe not, and live in a house in the LA hills with room for a home recording studio. Beca didn’t actively dislike children, but she was absolutely unwilling to ever be pregnant or carry a child – the very idea horrified her - and so kids hadn’t ever been part of the nebulous idea of her American Dream.

But the day Beca agreed to hitch her cart to Chloe Beale for good, Beca knew that everything she had tenuously drawn out for her future was out the window. There was no way in hell that bubbly, happy, “squeals and coos over random babies in public” Chloe Beale was going to be satisfied with a house full of music and recording equipment instead of irritatingly noisy light-up toys and scattered legos.

So Beca redrew her plans. As long she wasn’t going to have to do any of the hard work of growing a human being and dealing with her body essentially being under the control of an invader for the better part of a year, kids were fine. Sign her up!

Of course, Chloe did. Literally. She waited until they’d had two years to settle into their new life in LA before signing them up for some ridiculous workshop for LGBT couples and their “family building options”. Beca hated every moment, making no attempt to hide her scowl or how she tuned out the lecturer, and daydreaming about how she’d rather be spending the gorgeous summer day at the beach. At the end of the 4-hour prison sentence, Beca turned to Chloe in the car and stated that (obviously, Beca thought, but tactfully left that part out) they would find a sperm donor and Chloe would carry the baby and that would be that.

Chloe simply nodded.

What it came down to was that Beca didn’t mind kids, but she wasn’t super invested in the idea… and she kind of wanted to strangle Chloe when it took her six extra weeks of indecisiveness to choose between donor #21NHS and #TRC12. Because, “21NHS had a grandfather with heart problems, but TRC12 only has his BA in anthropology compared to his Ph.D. in biochemistry!” Beca patiently discussed the same points over and over so not to upset Chloe with a “lack of interest” in the overly clinical part of the process, but the twelfth time reminding Chloe that the donor’s financial status, educational level, and even his height wasn’t directly heritable was starting to feel a lot more like torture than starting a family.

Chloe’s goal was to select a donor that resembled Beca as much as possible, and despite Beca pointing out the flaws in that logic (such as the fact that any man who met the minimum 5’9” height requirement to donate meant that they’d have little in common with her tiny 5’2” form), Chloe was excellent at maintaining her selective hearing and attention.

When Chloe finally made up her mind about which donor to choose, Beca rejoiced – until Chloe immediately started dithering about the decision again. Beca, thinking fast, managed to distract Chloe before they hit the critical point.

“Chlo, isn’t it sort of bizarre that we could pass by our future kid’s father in the street and never know? I’m kind of weirded out about that.”

“Beca, ten million people live in LA. That’s statistically unlikely. And… I don’t know, Becs, being half of the genetic makeup of our kid doesn’t mean he’s the father, you know? Being a dad isn’t just about genetics -“

“Yeah, and my dad is case in point on that one. I know what you’re saying; I’m not, like, feeling insecure about being displaced by some mystery dude or blah blah blah, it’s just… weird. That someone can be part of something so momentous and not have a clue, you know? …And now I want to know what the actual statistics are. I’m texting Jessica.”

“Beca Mitchell, do not tell her why you’re asking!”

The next day, Beca stumbled out of their bedroom after a nap to find Chloe sitting at the kitchen table. Spread in front of her was enough paperwork to have used at least one full tree, separated into several individual mounds. Chloe looked up and smiled at Beca, who made quite a sight with one side of her hair – the side she normally sleeps on - smooshed up and tangled around one of her ear piercings, the other side still in the neat waves she’d styled to go to the studio earlier that morning.

She held out her arms and Beca let out a yawn as she sunk into Chloe’s lap, slumping into her chest for warmth as she shivered slightly in the cooler air of the open room. Chloe folded her arms around Beca’s slight form and pressed a kiss against her hairline, and Beca hummed in contentment as Chloe’s warmth seeped into her.

“What’s all this?” Beca gestured at the papers, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Well, this is the paperwork to deal with our insurance for the fertility coverage stuff – pretty much done, we just have to fill a few more things in – and the booklet of in-network doctors we have to choose from. So I looked them all up and pulled up information about their practices, success rates, pricing if I could find it, all that good stuff.” Chloe explained. Pointing at each stack as she listed it off, Chloe gestured to the rest of the piles. “So we have to choose between Dr. Jabara, Dr. March, Dr. Rodi, Dr. Beavers, Dr. Marrs, and-“

“Wait!” Beca interrupted her recitation. “You’re telling me we can choose a doctor named Doctor Beavers?!” Chloe just nodded in response, a smile playing at her lips as Beca laughed uproariously. “Yeah. Okay. Decision made.” Beca said once she gained control of herself, resolutely scooping up the appropriate mound and making a show of knocking the stack against the table until it was perfectly aligned. “There’s no way in hell that we’re not going to have someone named Dr. Beavers help make our kid.”

Chloe acquiesced with the choice– partially because she was well-familiar at this point with Beca’s whims and stubbornness, but also partially (largely, if she was being perfectly honest) because she also found “Dr. Beavers” hilarious.

Beca was happy to let her juvenile reputation take the fall for that one, though.

The IUI process was…. much stranger than Beca had been anticipating. Somehow, she��d never put much thought into exactly how that whole “insemination” thing actually happened. (Perhaps on purpose?) The tanks of frozen sperm that they’d ordered were one of the strangest things Beca had ever tried to wrap her head around. And the sight of a balding middle-aged man between her wife’s legs spread in the detested stirrups, shooting some stranger’s spunk all up in there was extremely awkward to be privy to. And for all her amusement about their reproductive endocrinologist being named Dr. Beavers, of all things, Beca soon realized that she was far too awkward to actually use his name at all when he was about to be in her wife’s vagina. Chloe had a difficult time restraining her laughter every time Beca, tongue-tied, tripped over her words trying to talk in circles to avoid the necessity of directing the doctor by name. (And Beca suspected she made a point of using his name more than necessary to see how many times she could get Beca to blush, but she couldn’t prove it unless Chloe chose to confess, which she hadn’t - yet.)

And when the first month wasn’t successful, Beca still wasn’t any more prepared for her discomfort with the whole situation on the repeat attempts as summer slipped into fall.

A few days after Thanksgiving, Beca was hard at work in her office deeply zoned in to the track she was fiddling with, when a message alert popped up on her computer – the only person who was set to bypass the “do not disturb” filter was Chloe – and pulled her out of her total immersion. Chloe’s message contained nothing but a picture, and not one of the selfies Chloe was prone to sending her throughout the week. It was a conglomeration of numbers and big words and Beca, still coming out of her daze, blinked blearily at it as she tried to decipher what she was seeing.

Chloe-hcg.gif

It took her a full twenty seconds to realize what she was looking at, and once the realization hit her, the shock kept her frozen for thirty more.

Then she moved. She tapped on Chloe’s name as she swiped the phone up to her ear, then shook anxiously in her chair and chewed on her finger as she waited for Chloe to answer. It only took two rings before Chloe picked up, obviously having been waiting just as anxiously for Beca to call. She didn’t even squeeze out a hello before her flabbergasted laughter sounded in Beca’s ear.

“Chlo. I need… Tell me what I’m looking at here. I need you to tell me.” Beca pleaded.

Chloe let out one more breathless laugh before she could form words. “Dr. Beavers –“

“Chloe!” Beca growled out ominously, and Chloe had to let out a giggle at her own inability to miss taking an opportunity to rile Beca up before she could continue.

“That’s the result from my blood test. My hCG level is 69 which Dr. Beavers said is ‘a positive result’, Becs.”

“Positive? Positive for… So… that means…” Beca whispered in shock.

“I’m pregnant, Becs.” Beca swore she could feel Chloe’s indubitable grin through the phone. “He said that my beta level is perfectly average, smack dab in the middle of the range. We’ll have to test it again a couple of times in the next few days so we can make sure it’s rising appropriately, but he said based on this first reading he thinks it’s viable and that having twins or something is unlikely.”

“Oh my god, Chlo!” Beca breathed out, still stunned and struggling to keep up with Chloe’s words. “That’s – I – So… We’re having a baby? Oh my god, we’re having a baby!” Beca couldn’t even begin to contain her elation over the news.

“We’re having a baby, Becs.” Chloe sniffled in confirmation.

Hearing Chloe lapse into tears broke the little restraint Beca had left, and the water she had been blinking back spilled over. She searched her desk frantically for a tissue, giving up when she couldn’t find any and letting out an embarrassed sniffle instead.

“Becs, are you crying?” Chloe asked incredulously.

“No!” Beca denied, and then sniffled again. Chloe let out a watery laugh, shaking her head even though she knew Beca couldn’t see her.

“Okay, Becs.” Chloe teased. “You can cry about having a kid, that’s not going to wreck your ‘badass rep��. No one’s going to judge you for that.”

Beca let out a watery laugh of her own, slipping easily into the familiar dynamic.

“Whatever, Chloe. You can’t prove anything. Maintenance of my reputation is very important.” Beca paused for a few seconds, thinking, then continued a little more soberly. “I’m coming home, Chlo.”

“What? Right now? Becs, it’s only 3:30. Aren’t you supposed to be there for another… what, three hours today?”

“Chlo, I can do whatever the hell I want. I’ll work from home later if it makes you feel better, but I’m coming home.”

Chloe capitulated right away, already on her way home herself. Beca scooped up her stuff and waved at Gia as she scampered out the front door of the studio, shouting that she’d explain later but she was headed home for the day and not even waiting for a response before letting the door slam shut behind her.

Beca managed not to leave work particularly early the two times in the following week when Chloe reported to her the follow-up results – numbers rising perfectly, according to Dr. Beavers. But even the new band she’d been working with for all of three weeks noted her obvious distraction. She had to work at not being too obvious as she played it off; she and Chloe had decided not to share the news with anyone until the safety of the second trimester. And as the media had started showing more interest in Beca as Grammy season approached, she was particularly worried about the news being leaked to the tabloids. That meant – Beca sighed to herself as she calculated – another two months of explaining away her weird behavior at work.

Beca was in for a rough couple of months; but then, Chloe wasn’t much better. She almost slipped up at least twice a week, and the only reason her fumbling cover ups were taken at face value was how accustomed everyone was to Chloe being, well, Chloe.

Chloe’s first ultrasound ended up being scheduled right on the day Chloe hit six weeks, and both women took the entire day off to devote to the appointment and each other. Beca insisted there was no way in hell she was going to miss it. The clinical, research-oriented part of the whole process they’d started during the summer was – well, book learning had never been Beca’s favorite thing, to put it lightly. But now that the baby – their baby - was an actual living thing, Beca was all in. They were able to hear the heartbeat for the first time, and Beca was even able to look past the awkwardness of the ultrasound wand having to be inserted for a transvaginal ultrasound – Beca had thought the time of “watching old dudes stick things in my wife’s vagina” had passed, but apparently she was wrong – to get emotional about the momentous occasion. This time it was Beca’s tears that set off Chloe’s.

If Chloe caught Beca crying over the print-out of the ultrasound several times later that week, or caught a glance of Beca’s email account filling up with “Your baby week-by-week” emails from multiple different sites – well, it’s likely she just smiled and didn’t mention it.

When Chloe reached eight weeks without incident they decided it wasn’t really failure if they shared their news with a few select people. They wanted to deliver the news as “face to face” as they could, what with being across the country from everyone else now, so they Skyped with Chloe’s parents and then each of her brothers in turn. When they Skyped with Aubrey next, Beca summed up the first experience with the Beales with an eyeroll and an explanation of “there were too many tears.” (Chloe couldn’t resist pointing out that some of which were hers; Beca ignored this and moved the conversation on with her chin held high.)

When they told the rest of the Bellas the following week – Chloe needed the extra time to figure out how to work a Google hangout so they could video chat with the whole group at the same time – the reactions were pretty much as expected. Amy immediately started listing off weird pieces of advice that were “Australian tradition” (Beca very much doubted that feeding the baby nothing but kangaroo milk for the first two years was a common Australian custom, for instance). Stacie made a couple of vagina jokes and then immediately started checking with her industry contacts about which doctors to refer them to. Emily, Jessica, and Ashley all cried, and Lily asked about the dimensions for the future nursery and how sturdy their current weapons cabinet was.

So, it went well.

Everything was going well, actually. And it kind of freaked Beca out. Chloe was nearing the end of the first trimester and all of the email subscriptions and websites and okay, yes, even a few books, were full of reassurance that “morning sickness will start waning soon.”

But Chloe hadn’t had… any, really. Occasional nausea, but nothing particularly disruptive, and she’d only puked twice the entire pregnancy – one of which she still insisted was due to bad food. Her boobs were a little sore, and maybe marginally bigger, but they couldn’t really tell and she was still fitting into her usual bras so it didn’t really matter. She was a tiny bit more tired than usual – but only capitulated to that by heading to bed about a half-hour earlier than she used to. There was none of the “bone-deep weariness” that other women of the same gestation were complaining about, and Chloe hadn’t taken up the napping habit that Beca had halfway expected.

So, Beca did what she did best and worried. She worried that Chloe not feeling sick meant that something was wrong, and then she felt awful for basically wanting her wife to feel terrible and vomit all the time and not have enough energy to get out of bed. When she started worrying that her worrying was going to make her a bad mom, Chloe stopped her in her tracks by grabbing her and forcing her to eat a few marshmallows before making out with her for awhile, so at least the last worry got put to bed for awhile due to distraction.

And Beca found it really helped when the worries literally got “put to bed” when Chloe attempted to sidetrack her.

They saw Dr. Beavers for the final time when Chloe was 9.5 weeks along. He did one last ultrasound (everything looked perfect, he repeatedly assured Beca) and Beca was the only one who cried while hearing the heartbeat again, something the doctor looked a tiny bit disconcerted about, before cheerfully discharging them from the practice to start seeing a regular OB/GYN.

After they spent a week looking through their options and speaking to a few different practices on the phone, Chloe turned to Beca with an anxious look on her face one night over dinner.

“Becs, don't freak out. I don’t want you to freak out when you hear what I’m about to say, okay?”

Beca stared at her unmoving and eyes wide for a moment before responding. “Erm, Chlo, when you start off with that, it just makes me want to freak out before I even hear it.” She took a deep breath and held it for a second before blowing it noisily out. “No, okay, I lied actually. I don’t want to freak out. Now I already am freaking out so I need you to spit the rest out, like, now, okay? Are you okay? Is something wrong? Oh my god, is the baby okay? Is something wrong with the baby? Do we need to go to the hospital? What do you need me to do?” Beca spat the questions at her wife in rapid-fire, getting more and more worked up as she spiraled down into the grip of the worst-case scenarios she harbored in her mind.

Chloe gaped at how quickly the situation had deteriorated before jumping out of her chair and crossing around the table to where Beca was seated. She gripped her firmly and turned her so that Beca was looking straight at her, and then Chloe cut off the frantic queries that Beca was still regurgitating.

“Becs! BECA! No! Everything is fine, I’m fine, the baby is fine. God, I’m so sorry. Take a breath, please.” Chloe pulled her into a tight hug and Beca shuddered a ragged breath into her shoulder.

“Fuck.” She breathed weakly on her next exhale, trying to match her uneven breaths to Chloe’s more steady rhythm. “Don’t ever do that to me again, Chloe.” She said as she lifted her head off Chloe’s collarbone a couple of minutes later to look her in the eye.

Chloe looked more contrite than Beca had ever seen her, clearly cut up about the panic she had unintentionally sent her wife into. “I’m so sorry, babe. I was just trying to prepare you for an idea that I’m not sure you’ll like. I was not trying to freak you out like that, I swear.”

“I know, I know.” Beca soothed her now-distraught wife. “It’s not even your fault, really. I’ve just been… kind of on edge about something going wrong. It only took a tiny nudge to send me over that edge since I’ve been dangling myself off of it for weeks.”

Chloe snorted. “Yeah, hon. You haven’t been doing a good job hiding your anxiety at all, just for the record. Who would have suspected that out of the two of us, you were going to turn out to be the helicopter parent?”

Beca shot Chloe a mock glare at the teasing, then her expression morphed into something almost – entreating? “Yeah, I just, uh… “ Beca swallowed twice before she was able to bring herself to continue. “I’ve just been… it’s like, I still can’t believe I’m married to you, Chlo. I’ve spent every single day of the last nine years in total disbelief that I get to have you because I have never been the person that lucky things happen to. And you are the luckiest thing that has ever happened to me. And then here we are in LA and I got my fucking dream job by some random happenstance… and now we’re having a baby. Chloe Beale and I are having a baby which just… My life is so good right now, Chloe. Our life is so good it’s fucking amazing and I can’t even really wrap my head around it, so I’ve been sitting here for the last 2 months waiting for the other shoe to drop because it has to drop at some point, right? I’m not a lucky person, things can’t just stay this good. And I want to be prepared, I don’t want to be taken off guard when the shoe finally drops. I won’t be able to take that, not again, Chlo.” Both women were openly weeping by the end of her outburst, and Chloe could feel her heart breaking for her wife as Beca’s last sentence sunk in.

Of course, this was about her parents. The parents that maintained a cordial but distant contact with their only daughter because of the life choices they disagreed with. The parents that had passed down a lifetime of anxiety and mistrust to their daughter through their own poorly handled relationship troubles. Beca had spent quite a bit of time in therapy dealing with the legacy of her broken childhood and troubled adolescence, and 99% of the time it was possible to forget how far Beca had come and how much she had grown in the last decade.

But this was the 1% of the time, when Beca’s past clung tightly enough that she was afraid to trust her happiness for fear of lurking instability.

Chloe briefly felt a swell of pure, hot rage at Beca’s parents, immediately tamping it down before Beca noticed and assumed it was directed at her. She tugged a stiff and still silently crying Beca out of her chair, sitting down in her place before pulling Beca back down into her lap and cradling her into her body. Beca fought it briefly, rigid in Chloe’s embrace, before giving in and curling into Chloe with a strangled sob.

“Beca, Beca, Beca.” Chloe murmured as she brushed Beca’s hair back with her fingers soothingly. “Honey. I don’t… I can tell you that nothing is wrong right now. Actually, everything is perfect, because you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I thank the stars every day for you. Literally, you know? Every morning when I wake up with you sleeping next to me, your hair in my mouth at all, I spend a minute smiling at the sun and thanking whoever or whatever might be listening that this gets to be my life. That you get to be my life. And now I get to wake up in the morning and be thankful that I get to have you and this baby in my life from now on, and I literally cried with happiness yesterday, Becs. Which was why your hair was a little damp when you woke up.” Chloe laughed through her tears. “And I can’t promise that nothing will be wrong in the future, I’m not clairvoyant…. But I can promise you that if that shoe of yours ever does drop, I’m going to be right here next to you helping you catch it. You’re not the only one that has to hold it up any more.”

Beca’s emotions were still running high – higher than any other time Chloe had been witness to, with two exceptions – and she could only bring herself to nod several times against Chloe’s body while the sobs continued to rip out of her unbidden. Chloe sat and waited patiently, sporadically rocking in a calming motion and hugging Beca tightly to her the whole time, even as her legs went numb. All she could do was offer comfort while Beca struggled to rein in her tumultuous emotions, her heart hurting for Beca’s internal struggle. Eventually, Beca cried herself out and fell into an exhausted sleep in Chloe’s arms. Chloe carried her to bed, smiling sadly to herself as she did so, at the scene that had become so familiar over the years – although not usually tinged with so much sadness.

Chloe returned to the kitchen to choke down a few bites of the cold and long-forgotten dinner – she wasn’t hungry after all of that, but she felt obligated to eat at least a little bit due to that whole “growing a human being” thing. She tucked the rest of the leftovers away into the fridge before heading back to their bedroom. She changed into her pajamas and brushed her teeth quietly, peeking in on Beca twice while she did so, although Beca didn’t stir even a bit. It was barely eight, but Chloe was just as exhausted from the emotional evening and she gratefully crawled into bed; but before she could cuddle into her tear-stained wife, she had one last thing to do. She grabbed her phone off her nightstand and shot an email off to Beca’s therapist back in Georgia, inquiring about the possibility of setting up a Skype session in the next week. The check-in would do Beca good, Chloe knew, as much as it upset her to admit that she wasn’t able to be everything Beca needed sometimes, that she wasn’t able to just fix it.

But Beca didn’t need rescuing, she just needed an objective party to remind her of her own strength.

That taken care of, Chloe nestled happily into Beca’s side, the tinier figure automatically shifting to wrap herself around Chloe. As Beca’s hair landed in her mouth, Chloe couldn’t help but laugh even as she sputtered.

Yeah, this was right where she wanted to be, Chloe thought, as she drifted off.

Chloe woke, as always, before Beca the next morning and started cooking up Beca’s favorite Nutella French toast. She deserved something special after the previous night, after all. She was almost done when Beca walked out of the bedroom, still yawning and eyes tiny from sleep. She stole up behind Chloe and wrapped her arms around her midsection and planting her chin on Chloe’s shoulder – as best she could, anyway. She made a show of a dramatic sniff and hummed happily when she realized what Chloe was making.

“Good morning. Nutella french toast? Fuck, this is the best day ever.” Beca said, as she moved to plate a couple of pieces already cooling on the stack, sighing in pleasure as she stuck her nose in the small pile to take another big whiff. “Thank you.” Beca pressed a kiss to Chloe’s temple. She wrinkled her nose a bit when Chloe just hummed contentedly in response. Beca gently angled Chloe’s head towards her with her free hand, meeting her eyes intently. “Thank you, Chlo.”

Chloe nodded and simply gave Beca a quick kiss, clearly aware of how little she liked making a big deal of emotional matters.

Halfway through breakfast, Beca awkwardly cleared her throat before broaching the topic weighing on her mind. “So, uh… what were you even going to say last night?”

Chloe’s mouth dropped into an “O” shape – it had completely slipped her mind, to be honest. Now it was her turn to swallow nervously before answering.

“Oh. Uh. Right. Well, after looking into all those OBs this week… I just don’t get a great vibe off of any of them? I mean, at least one of them was clearly homophobic. They all seem to be paternalistic older guys and… I really can’t imagine that feeling patronized the whole time is going to be conducive to easily pushing a human being out of my vagina, you know?.”

Beca grimaced at the mental image Chloe was evoking, but nodded for her to continue.

“Right. Well. Along with the OB recommendations she sent us, Stacie included a couple of… other recommendations.” Frankly, the tone Chloe was using and the way she stressed the last two was about to send Beca’s eyebrows up into her hairline.

“Okay… so, what ‘other recommendations’ did she send? The baby can’t be delivered by, like, a sexologist or whatever.” Chloe snorted at Beca’s theory.

“No, not a sexologist, Bec. But she did include information for a couple of local midwives.”

[that1badassbitch]

I don't know. And that is the biggest problem I need to deal with. Before I can fix it, or improve it, or make any kind of progress at all, I need to Know.

I don't know who I am, or what I want to be, or what I want to do, and until I know that I can't make progress on doing what makes me happy. I don't know where to start to figure it out. I don't know how to know.

I feel like there are a million of me in the one me, and all of them are different- the same core, but built differently around it, just like every oc I make is from the same template but carved slightly differently from the ones before them. And I don't know how to know which if then is the Real Me, or the Right Me, or if there even is a One that should be focused on, that should be steering my path and my life.

There is the me that needs quiet, and solitude, and a space that is exclusively Mine, where no one else is welcome and nothing is judged because no one else sees it. They are close with the me who wants space, wide open space and nature, plants and birds and cats and maybe a dog or two, and with the me that Is a cat with no responsibilities and no bindings. They are at odds with the me who needs people, close friends that I can exist with, laugh and cry with, be both fully and only half present with, and the me who needs strangers and noise and energy that fills the room until it sinks into my skin to power me further, and the me that wants adventure and action and fights.

I want everything and nothing, I want the impossible and things at odds with eachother, I want to be happy

And I don't know where to start.

[adamrevi3ws]

Death Stranding

Death Stranding (A Hideo Kojima Game) is the first video game I have ever bought at launch. It is also, possibly, the utter definition of “there’s a lot to unpack here.”

For those uninformed, Hideo Kojima is a video game designer/producer/writer/director, (in)famous for making games with very fun gameplay and level design, touching yet blatant social and political messages, and extremely convoluted and goofy storylines. Most of Kojima’s games have been from the Metal Gear series, revolutionary stealth games inspired from his love of 80s action movies, with a plot that sounds like it was written by a conspiracy theorist. Death Stranding is Kojima’s first game since his rocky exit from Japanese entertainment conglomerate Konami, and the game’s release has been subject to much excitement over the years due to Kojima’s massive reputation to its mysterious plot. Well, it’s been out for nearly a month, and I can confirm that everything you’ve heard about it, good, bad, and weird, is true. But overall, I actually liked it a good amount!

I’m going to start with the bad news, so bear with me. As some may have already noticed, I am becoming quite the stickler when it comes to pacing and I am sad to announce that this has some of the worst pacing that I have seen in a video game in a WHILE. The story itself is fine. To put it simply, you play as a post-apocalyptic deliveryman in a (weirdly mountainous) America fractured and destroyed by antimatter ghost attacks. To detect the ghosts, you wear a baby connected to the afterlife on your chest.  Your goal is to deliver packages and reconnect America to what is essentially the internet. As goofy as that sounds, the problem isn’t with the story, but rather how it’s told.  After the initial premise is established, the plot of a solid 80% of the game is pretty barebones, in which you deliver packages and have small arcs around memorable characters. Then, the last 20% game is this dragging, convoluted 3-4 hour movie with the occasional mediocre “bullet sponge” boss fight or short mission objective thrown in. For some reason, Kojima decided to throw in at least 80 different major emotional beats in that segment, and most of them feel pretty meaningless because they probably should have put in much earlier. A lot of these scenes should have happened earlier in the more gameplay focused part of the game, where its frustrating cutscenes felt like they said so much without really meaning anything. In previous reviews I have also talked my irritation with moments where it feels like stories should have ended, yet they continue to move on, for better or worse. One of the biggest offenders of this is Season 2 of Westworld. I am sad to say that Death Stranding has approximately one million moments like this. When the story’s initial premise seems to come to a stop and you think the credits are about to roll, some random twist happens and BOOM it’s nowhere near done. Even when the credits happen, the game still dawdles around for 30ish more minutes until you reach a proper conclusion to the plot and the “real” credits. I’d like to remind you, however, the story itself is alright. A lot of the individual cutscenes are filled with great acting and directing (it feels weird as hell to say this about a video game) despite Kojima’s over the top and unsubtle dialogue, I just wish they were arranged in a cohesive way. This game deals with a lot of great and relevant themes, and despite my issues with pacing, I think Kojima manages to do a decent job of conveying his message to us by the end. I just hope he takes a class on plot structure before writing his next big game.

Since a good amount of this game is cutscenes made with elaborate motion capture technology, I’d like to talk about the characters. The people in this game aren’t just your run of the mill voice actors, but in fact some pretty big names you might have heard of. The main character is “played” by Walking Dead star Norman Reedus, while other important characters are played by actors Mads Mikkelsen and Léa Seydoux, and the likenesses of famous directors Guillermo del Toro and Nicolas Winding Refn are even major forces in the plot. While everything about these characters is goofy, ranging from names (DIE-HARDMAN), backstories, and dialogue, Kojima nevertheless does a great job of fleshing them out and using them to tell a relatively solid story about making strong connections in a difficult world. While I wouldn’t exactly say Kojima’s writing is subversive, he does a great job of developing characters further than the archetype they initially come off. Norman Reedus’ protagonist originally feels typecast as your standard edgy loner action hero, but the more you play as him, the more you realize he’s just kind of a quirky introvert more than anything else. Even the narrative’s “damsel in distress” unfolds to be something more than meets the eye. I think my personal favorite characters would be Léa Seydoux’ Fragile and Guillermo del Toro’s Deadman, and was frankly disappointed by Mads Mikkelsen’s relatively low amount of involvement in the game in comparison to that of others. For a game about making connections with others, Kojima does a great job of developing the connections between the protagonist (and you by extension) and Death Stranding’s ensemble.

Now, to finally answer the question that many of us have been asking for the past three years: what is it like to actually play the game? To put it frankly, it is a good game - but not a fun game. If you can make sense out of that and can find value in experiences other than the vague ideal of “fun” in video games, you might be able to enjoy this. I’m sorry about how pretentious that sounded but you have to trust me. Many have described Death Stranding as an “advanced walking simulator,” and I find that to be fundamentally untrue. Instead, it is rather an “every time you ever stumbled while hiking simulator”. Although you have the option to fight ghosts, bandits, and terrorists in your deliveries later in the game, the real enemies are the environment and the weight you’re carrying. Because Kojima has a hilariously incorrect idea of American geography, you barely run into any smooth or flat terrain. At the beginning of the game, getting nearly anywhere is an intense struggle against the elements, and in nearly every mission I somehow managed to slip, fall, get attacked, or lose myself in a river, or a combination of the four. This is why I said the game isn’t “fun”. Additionally, you’re carrying a LOT. Not only do you carry cargo, but also the equipment you need to traverse this extreme world, meaning you need to plan very carefully based on where you’re going and how much you’re carrying. Oh, let I should also mention that the cargo itself has certain problems, like conditions for proper delivery (keeping a pizza upright at all times) or issues with its weight, meaning this game is a literal balancing act. Death Stranding is very much “Man vs Wild,” except instead of drinking your piss like Bear Gryllis, you carry it on your back to throw it at ghosts (this is a real game mechanic I’m not kidding).

As daunting as that might sound, something about it pays off. I’m a sucker for good open-world games, and being able to soak in the absolutely gorgeous atmosphere combined with the sense of accomplishment you feel after making another delivery through another challenging wasteland is fantastic. Factor in the fantastic (although almost randomly occurring) soundtrack by Icelandic band Low Roar, and you get an almost meditative experience. And that isn’t even mentioning the cooperative element. One major game mechanic in Death Stranding is that, while not a proper multiplayer game, other players can leave behind essential equipment or build helpful structures for other players. I cannot count the number of times I was thankful for someone leaving a ladder for me to climb a towering cliff or building a bridge over an impenetrable river. I think I’m probably the most thankful for players who build “timefall shelters,” which allow you to protect your cargo from oppressive rain that would otherwise ruin their containers. This silent sense of gratitude and consideration for others is the core of Death Stranding, fulfilling Kojima’s overall message of choosing to connect with the rest of the world rather than isolating oneself. In some deliveries I might climb an entire mountain, find a motorcycle left for me by another player, and ride all the way down just to be stuck in a river that I can only traverse wearing an otter hood given to me by Conan O’Brien, and then another player could end up completing the same delivery in a completely different way. Death Stranding is the type open-ended of game where the stories and paths you make with others are equally important (if not more in my opinion) than the one you see in the cutscenes.

I don’t think Death Stranding will ever live up to the amount of hype it’s gotten over the years, and that’s perfectly fine. It is by no means a game for everybody, but if you’re like me and can make the grind through its slightly unappealing gameplay style and poor plot structure, you’ll find something quite unique and beautiful. I give it a 7.5 out of 10. Death Stranding, you’re pretty good!

[braindamageforbeginners]

Interment of remains

Cycle 4, Day 10

For those of you keeping track this piece will, of course, have very little to do with the final resting place of one’s remains (as ever, it’s the way to weirder depths). Also, I had one of those weird Marizomib nights where fours hours of sleep “feels” like seven or eight, so there’s a solid chance something’s screwy or I’m a bit off (okay, so more than usual) I also got up ultra early because the power company recently changed the rates and times of use, so if I want to so something ambitious like wash my sheets (several of my former roommates are probably shaking their heads and saying something like, “Wow, the last neurosurgery really did change him.”), I have to skulk around in the dead of night and pray I can dry it before electricity becomes more expensive). You might think I’m joking about that, I was literally putting my laundry (I decided to reach for the stars and try for washing my stuff, and the sheets) in  at 7 am when I ran into Dad.I believe he had an armload of laundry, too. So, not only are we all maintaining a weird semi-nocturnal lifestyle in the hope of doing laundry there’s now a line for it.

In more recent events, I have an aunt and cousins visiting this week (hi guys), We all enjoyed a delightful lunch, after which we faced an algebra conundrum. I had to be at a Cancer Survivor’s/Patients’ support group at six, and my aunt wanted to go browse possible cemetary sites. Because my cousins are clearly faster on their feet than I am (also, because everyone was going in different directions), they raced off to a casino. I am not making any of this up. I’m compacting this quite a bit and reducing quite a few details, both because they’re unnecessary and because they only obfuscate the story. My Aunt is Mormon, and I guess there are rules about where you can be buried, what sort of structure is admissable, and that you be buried within a certain number of kilometers of anyone you want to go to heaven with - in this case, my grandparents in Point Loma (who, if memory serves, were Methodists)(if any of my Mormon neighbors reading this can make this concept make sense in four sentences or less, I’d actually like to know)(Actually, her religion isn’t terribly important, except she’s using those rules to choose where she’ll be buried)(or whatever the term is when you bury an urn full of human ashes). Again, folks, cemetery shopping to ensure a long afterlife whilst the sons play low-stakes blackjack. She might be going to heaven, but I’m not sure everyone else in the family is (depending on how God now looks at gambling). Before a meeting of cancer survivors. This is why there is absolutely no need to fictionalize my life, this shit writes itself.

But this did kind of bring up my ongoing confusion with the English-speaking world’s weird reverence/confusion of spirit and body (don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything too dark or horrible, just point out that you can, if you want be better - or at least more useful - in disposing of your remains). Now, I disagree with theologians on many topics (apart from basic morality), but I think we can all agree that, no matter who’s right about the afterlife (I’m really hoping it’s vodou), once you depart your mortal coil, you probably have bigger problems than your remains. And I’m not going to say we should dig up cemeteries (although I will point out that we’re highly selective about that belief - it rarely applies to Native American or historically black cemetaries). But what I will say is this - you are, as magical and wonderful as you are - essentially an animated piece of meat. We can talk about the anatomy and biochemistry involved - but, at the end of the day, science can’t fully, adequately explain that spark of consciousness that makes you alive. However, once doctors pronounce you dead, that’s pretty much it (trust me, there are few things more annoying to a doctor than filling out death certificates; they’re going to be very, very, legally certain before they sign)(in the case of the Warlocks and their playing chicken with cancer, I’d fully expect them to rig my corpse up to a series of ropes to keep the illusion going, like “Weekend at Bernie’s”). You can just let that go to waste in the ground, get burnt up in an exceedingly wasteful fire, or, go a different route.

I’ve been an organ donor since 2008, because once you realize how many people need a good kidney in this country, you won’t sleep at night (well, you shouldn’t). It costs all of $40 (once) a wait in line at the DMV, and that’s it. No one will bother you again about it until you die. Someone else can make use of that heart of yours. And I though my oncologists could fight over the rest. Or at least, that was the dream, prior to being nuked, stabbed, and poisoned (NOTE: TO SELF: Short story title: “Rasputin gives a kidney”) Until I discovered that the organ donation board only takes organs that have been “cancer free” for a number of years (I’ve already discussed why “cancer free” is both asinine and scientifically illierate) because they’re afraid we’ll give the recipients cancer (the person inside of me who was paying attention in cancer biology is suspicious, the biotechie in me wants to see the study on that). I would be okay with my organs being denied because radiation and chemo are notoriously hard on the innards (they are), or that there’s rejection problems (I have no data), but “cooties?” Really? After all the other shit cancer patients have to deal with, there’s still this nonsensical germ phobia.

Well, when one dream dies, a new one is reborn: SELF: When I die, I want to leave my body to science and/or a conglomeration of vaguely evil tech companies. That way, in ten years, I can wake up as RoboCop. DAD: That seems unlikely, to say the least. SELF: Sir, can you honestly tell me my outlandish-but-comforting proposed after-life is any less likely than an after-life based on which zip code you’re buried in? DAD: No,

And I went to the Young Adult Cancer support group, which I went to originally because I didn’t want to miss out on some detail that might keep me alive, but I’ll be back because everyone there is kind and empathetic, and those things are sorely missing from humanity at large.

[mirrix]

Title:  Fire and Hemlock

Author: Diana Wynne Jones

Thoughts:  This was...well, I’m not totally sure how I feel about it. I hate to say I’m disappointed, because I generally love Diana Wynne Jones’s work. And I do like bits of this one. But I think I was sold on an idea that never really comes to true fruition for me and that’s a hurdle I’m having trouble getting over.  Let me explain myself a bit. 

I was sold on the idea that this was a modern day version of Tam Lin. And it’s not really that. Or at least, it’s not only that.  Really it’s a conglomerate of a bunch of stories including Thomas the Rhymer (which I’m not familiar with), East of the Sun West of the Moon (which I am familiar with), and others. There’s a definite Arabian Nights edge in there too.  So the Tam Lin stuff ends up being more homage than a straight retelling.  There’s also the fact that modern for this book is the 80′s. Which I when I believe it was published so it was modern at the time. But it feels a little out of date now.

I think my main problems with it boil down to two things: 1. The supernatural elements are really subdued until like right up at the end. I’ve mentioned that being an annoyance in other books I’ve read and it kind of sticks here. It’s handled in the same matter of fact way it usually is in Jones’s other stories but it’s not the focus or even really elaborated on and that was frustrating to me.  I don’t necessarily have to have every bit of every supernatural element in the story explained in detail, but they never even refer to the antagonists as the fae or ever really say what Laurel is. And that’s a bit of a let down. 

And 2. There’s a sizable age gap between our Tam Lin (Thomas Lynn) and our Janet (Polly) and that sort of skeeves me out a bit. Like I get that the point was to give their relationship time to build but Tam/Tom meets Polly when she’s like 12 and kind of uses her as a distraction from his entrapment. Which the book cops to but it still bugs me. I don’t think it would have if they had built it towards a strong father/daughter type bond (Polly’s own father was a dick where as Tom was a positive, encouraging influence on her) but by the end it seems to be romantic. Tom’s age is kept pretty vague but when they meet, Polly distinctly sees him as an adult and by the end, Polly’s only 19.  So that’s not great. And yes the original ballad is kind of vague about how old Tam is but there was also like, magic directly involved with keeping him the age he was.  I dunno, I can’t say that I’m totally against pairs with age gaps, or even pairs with large age gaps (I’m dating someone 15 years older than I am, glass houses and all that) but for me the key factor is the age of both parties at the beginning and having Polly be so dang young at the start just feel like Wife Husbandry to me. 

But I should talk a bit about the things I like about the book.  I love Polly to be fair. She is an excellent protagonist. I love her approach to things and how she tackles heroism like it’s an actual job and becomes super sporty as a kid because heroes have to fight so she should ya know, be able to do that.  I love the story she and Tom create together, even though it ends up kicking them in the butt a few times.  I love Granny too. She’s great. Also Tom’s friends, specifically Ann. She’s also great.  Also the bits about puberty from Polly’s view point are pretty amusing.  I know there’s plenty to like about this book but compared to Jones’s other stuff it feels a lot weaker to me.

Recommend:  I’d recommend other works of Jones’s before I’d recommend this one honestly.  

Cover Image Source

[pedrorsmith]

Finding a Treatment that “Fits”

The addiction treatment field, and specifically inpatient programs (or rehabs), have been in the press a lot lately. In the last decade programs have opened, closed, merged into large conglomerates and many have been noted for unethical practices that take advantage of people who use substances and their families. The opioid crisis in this country has brought many things to light, such as the failure of many programs to provide effective, life-saving medication assisted treatments, and we hope that positive changes in the treatment field will be the outcome. Until those changes consistently take hold however, if you are someone who is looking for treatment or looking for a loved one, it can be helpful to have a few things in mind as you search for the best program that fits your needs.

Finding treatment is a bit like shopping for jeans; just because something is listed as your size, it doesn’t guarantee that it will fit well. Sometimes it’s too snug, or the cut isn’t quite right. Or the fabric feels scratchy against your skin You often have to try on a few brands and styles to find the pair that is a good fit. If you or someone you love needs treatment for a substance use problem, it’s important to take the same approach. Take the time to interview several treatment providers and arm yourself with a list of questions so that you can compare and contrast them before you make your final decision.

Additionally, while it may be tempting to rush to the computer and do a search for “best rehabs” we recommend against taking this strategy. The internet is full of 1800 call services that appear to be linking you to someone who can help you find the best options. The thing they don’t tell you is that they are more than likely paid by specific programs for referrals to them and their suggestion of the best place for you will not be based on anything other than the amount of out of pocket expense you can afford or your insurance benefits.

Instead we recommend that you try and arrange a face-to-face professional assessment since substance use problems run the gamut from experimental and non-problematic to severe and life threatening. People turn to substances for a variety of reasons and a good assessment can help you identify the best course of action (meeting with a psychiatrist, behavioral treatments or maybe no treatment at all and just increasing community connection like attending self-help meetings). Be sure to ask about the qualifications and approach of the person doing the assessment (see additional comments below) since they have a huge impact on the recommendations that they will make. Once you get feedback, you can move onto exploring the following questions. And if you can’t get a good assessment, then just proceed to ask these questions of any program you are considering.

Here is a short primer for what to look for in a treatment program. Like jeans, we know that everyone has a unique fit and that there isn’t one specific treatment program or treatment philosophy that will work for everyone. The questions we are suggesting are good ones for everyone to ask and will help you find support that matches your specific needs.

What is your Treatment Philosophy?

Different treatment programs have different philosophies about how to help someone with their substance use problems. Some places adhere closely to the traditional 12-step approach, while others are open to taking a more harm reduction approach. And if you review program websites you will quickly think that every program does everything! They say they are experts in treating co-occurring issues, trauma, professionals, and effectively use every modality under the sun (e.g., CBT, MI, DBT, EMDR and all sorts of other acronyms). The reality is that many providers have realized that consumers are wanting access to a variety of services and market themselves as such.. It can be very difficult to ascertain what will be helpful to you or your loved one and a program that outlines all of these options as a way to sell the program does not guarantee they do any of the treatments effectively. So it is important to dig a little deeper.

A website may be a good way to start the process of finding a treatment program, but calling is much more informative. It’s good to ask specifically how they determine which treatment modality will be the best fit for you and how is it provided (i.e., individual sessions, group sessions or lectures). How many individual sessions do you get a week and what is the focus of those sessions. If there are groups, how many a day and how many people are in each group. And if they say something that you don’t understand or are vague in their explanations, ask them to clarify! If they can’t do it or don’t do it well enough for you, that might be a sign about how happy you will be with the treatment program overall.

Who provides the actual treatment? What are their credentials? And how are they supervised and trained?

Treatment programs differ widely in who on staff has actual day-to-day therapeutic contact with clients. As you interview programs, ask who will be running the groups and providing the individual therapy, because it’s not always who you think it is! Many programs are staffed largely by counselor level providers and some states require only a high school degree in order to be eligible for the certification. Many people with this level of training are talented and have other degrees or specialties that are helpful. Others however are ill-equipped to treat the range of issues that are often part of the clinical picture. Most programs say they treat co-occurring mental health issues and yet they have few on staff with doctoral or medical degrees. We recommend that you look for programs where there are a mix of credentials and where you will have regular (at least weekly) contact with a masters level clinician or above. What are your feelings about medications and how often is there access to a psychiatrist?

Just as programs have different treatment philosophies, they can have different philosophies about medication. Many programs continue to be “abstinence only” which means they hold the older, more-traditional belief that the job of a treatment program is to get the client off of all substances, which includes prescribed medications that are sometimes associated with misuse (e.g., stimulants etc). Unfortunately, these programs have also been against the use of very effective medication assisted therapies such as opioid replacement medications (e.g., methadone and Suboxone) and Naltrexone. While many are having to change their position due to public pressure associated with the rate of overdose from opioids, their ambivalence about these medications often causes them to be less supportive than they should be of many clients needing to be on long term maintenance.

Ask the treatment program about their stance on medications and, if you’re not sure why they hold their stance, ask them to explain. Specifically inquire about whether or not they are willing to maintain clients on opioid replacement medications or whether they discharge clients on Vivitrol (for opiates or alcohol) or Antabuse (for alcohol). .Again, if the explanation isn’t satisfying to you, or seems to go against what you’re reading here or elsewhere, that’s an important sign that this program might not be right for you. Also ask how often the psychiatrist will see you or your loved one as frequency is the only way medications can be well monitored and the treatment individually tailored to your needs.

If this program isn’t right for me/my loved one, what is your refund policy?

Unfortunately, even when you have done all your homework and planned everything out as much as possible, sometimes the “fit” just isn’t right and you won’t know that until you participate in the program. Many programs require payment up front and it is important to know how they will handle it if you decide the program isn’t a good match for you. Many places do not offer partial refunds, but some do and will work with you if you decide to end the treatment relationship. It’s important for you to know those details up front, as it can lead to an extended battle for your money (and adding another battle is not really consistent with self-care!!).

How do they help you develop an aftercare plan if inpatient or ongoing plan if outpatient and how do they work with treatment providers you already may have in place?

As you try to identify an inpatient program it might seem strange to be asking about aftercare before you’ve even started! What you’re looking for is two-fold: a very clear and supportive aftercare program that is developed in collaboration with you and some follow up for a period of time to make sure you are connecting to the supports in your community. You also want to know how they are going to collaborate with any provider you have already been working with. Will your inpatient therapist talk directly to your outpatient therapist or psychiatrist? Or is it just the admissions team. If it is the later, be advised that information can get lost in translation and advocate that your team talk directly to each other, and frequently! You would be surprised how many treatment providers never pick up the phone to speak to another professional.

This primer is just the tip of the iceberg about what to look for in a treatment program. For more information about what to look for, look to Anne Fletcher’s book Inside Rehab to learn more about what happens in rehabs and different programs, when rehab is the best choice (and when it’s actually not the ideal treatment setting) as well as more questions to ask as you make your decision.

The post Finding a Treatment that “Fits” appeared first on The Center for Motivation & Change.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241846 http://ift.tt/2AAirlB

[carinaconnor5]

Finding a Treatment that “Fits”

The addiction treatment field, and specifically inpatient programs (or rehabs), have been in the press a lot lately. In the last decade programs have opened, closed, merged into large conglomerates and many have been noted for unethical practices that take advantage of people who use substances and their families. The opioid crisis in this country has brought many things to light, such as the failure of many programs to provide effective, life-saving medication assisted treatments, and we hope that positive changes in the treatment field will be the outcome. Until those changes consistently take hold however, if you are someone who is looking for treatment or looking for a loved one, it can be helpful to have a few things in mind as you search for the best program that fits your needs.

Finding treatment is a bit like shopping for jeans; just because something is listed as your size, it doesn’t guarantee that it will fit well. Sometimes it’s too snug, or the cut isn’t quite right. Or the fabric feels scratchy against your skin You often have to try on a few brands and styles to find the pair that is a good fit. If you or someone you love needs treatment for a substance use problem, it’s important to take the same approach. Take the time to interview several treatment providers and arm yourself with a list of questions so that you can compare and contrast them before you make your final decision.

Additionally, while it may be tempting to rush to the computer and do a search for “best rehabs” we recommend against taking this strategy. The internet is full of 1800 call services that appear to be linking you to someone who can help you find the best options. The thing they don’t tell you is that they are more than likely paid by specific programs for referrals to them and their suggestion of the best place for you will not be based on anything other than the amount of out of pocket expense you can afford or your insurance benefits.

Instead we recommend that you try and arrange a face-to-face professional assessment since substance use problems run the gamut from experimental and non-problematic to severe and life threatening. People turn to substances for a variety of reasons and a good assessment can help you identify the best course of action (meeting with a psychiatrist, behavioral treatments or maybe no treatment at all and just increasing community connection like attending self-help meetings). Be sure to ask about the qualifications and approach of the person doing the assessment (see additional comments below) since they have a huge impact on the recommendations that they will make. Once you get feedback, you can move onto exploring the following questions. And if you can’t get a good assessment, then just proceed to ask these questions of any program you are considering.

Here is a short primer for what to look for in a treatment program. Like jeans, we know that everyone has a unique fit and that there isn’t one specific treatment program or treatment philosophy that will work for everyone. The questions we are suggesting are good ones for everyone to ask and will help you find support that matches your specific needs.

What is your Treatment Philosophy?

Different treatment programs have different philosophies about how to help someone with their substance use problems. Some places adhere closely to the traditional 12-step approach, while others are open to taking a more harm reduction approach. And if you review program websites you will quickly think that every program does everything! They say they are experts in treating co-occurring issues, trauma, professionals, and effectively use every modality under the sun (e.g., CBT, MI, DBT, EMDR and all sorts of other acronyms). The reality is that many providers have realized that consumers are wanting access to a variety of services and market themselves as such.. It can be very difficult to ascertain what will be helpful to you or your loved one and a program that outlines all of these options as a way to sell the program does not guarantee they do any of the treatments effectively. So it is important to dig a little deeper.

A website may be a good way to start the process of finding a treatment program, but calling is much more informative. It’s good to ask specifically how they determine which treatment modality will be the best fit for you and how is it provided (i.e., individual sessions, group sessions or lectures). How many individual sessions do you get a week and what is the focus of those sessions. If there are groups, how many a day and how many people are in each group. And if they say something that you don’t understand or are vague in their explanations, ask them to clarify! If they can’t do it or don’t do it well enough for you, that might be a sign about how happy you will be with the treatment program overall.

Who provides the actual treatment? What are their credentials? And how are they supervised and trained?

Treatment programs differ widely in who on staff has actual day-to-day therapeutic contact with clients. As you interview programs, ask who will be running the groups and providing the individual therapy, because it’s not always who you think it is! Many programs are staffed largely by counselor level providers and some states require only a high school degree in order to be eligible for the certification. Many people with this level of training are talented and have other degrees or specialties that are helpful. Others however are ill-equipped to treat the range of issues that are often part of the clinical picture. Most programs say they treat co-occurring mental health issues and yet they have few on staff with doctoral or medical degrees. We recommend that you look for programs where there are a mix of credentials and where you will have regular (at least weekly) contact with a masters level clinician or above. What are your feelings about medications and how often is there access to a psychiatrist?

Just as programs have different treatment philosophies, they can have different philosophies about medication. Many programs continue to be “abstinence only” which means they hold the older, more-traditional belief that the job of a treatment program is to get the client off of all substances, which includes prescribed medications that are sometimes associated with misuse (e.g., stimulants etc). Unfortunately, these programs have also been against the use of very effective medication assisted therapies such as opioid replacement medications (e.g., methadone and Suboxone) and Naltrexone. While many are having to change their position due to public pressure associated with the rate of overdose from opioids, their ambivalence about these medications often causes them to be less supportive than they should be of many clients needing to be on long term maintenance.

Ask the treatment program about their stance on medications and, if you’re not sure why they hold their stance, ask them to explain. Specifically inquire about whether or not they are willing to maintain clients on opioid replacement medications or whether they discharge clients on Vivitrol (for opiates or alcohol) or Antabuse (for alcohol). .Again, if the explanation isn’t satisfying to you, or seems to go against what you’re reading here or elsewhere, that’s an important sign that this program might not be right for you. Also ask how often the psychiatrist will see you or your loved one as frequency is the only way medications can be well monitored and the treatment individually tailored to your needs.

If this program isn’t right for me/my loved one, what is your refund policy?

Unfortunately, even when you have done all your homework and planned everything out as much as possible, sometimes the “fit” just isn’t right and you won’t know that until you participate in the program. Many programs require payment up front and it is important to know how they will handle it if you decide the program isn’t a good match for you. Many places do not offer partial refunds, but some do and will work with you if you decide to end the treatment relationship. It’s important for you to know those details up front, as it can lead to an extended battle for your money (and adding another battle is not really consistent with self-care!!).

How do they help you develop an aftercare plan if inpatient or ongoing plan if outpatient and how do they work with treatment providers you already may have in place?

As you try to identify an inpatient program it might seem strange to be asking about aftercare before you’ve even started! What you’re looking for is two-fold: a very clear and supportive aftercare program that is developed in collaboration with you and some follow up for a period of time to make sure you are connecting to the supports in your community. You also want to know how they are going to collaborate with any provider you have already been working with. Will your inpatient therapist talk directly to your outpatient therapist or psychiatrist? Or is it just the admissions team. If it is the later, be advised that information can get lost in translation and advocate that your team talk directly to each other, and frequently! You would be surprised how many treatment providers never pick up the phone to speak to another professional.

This primer is just the tip of the iceberg about what to look for in a treatment program. For more information about what to look for, look to Anne Fletcher’s book Inside Rehab to learn more about what happens in rehabs and different programs, when rehab is the best choice (and when it’s actually not the ideal treatment setting) as well as more questions to ask as you make your decision.

The post Finding a Treatment that “Fits” appeared first on The Center for Motivation & Change.

from https://motivationandchange.com/finding-treatment-fits/

[that1badassbitch]

For real though.

A couple days ago I had this fucked up dysphoria wave- about my boobs. I love my boobs, they're a nice size and very soft and I like to giggle at them bouncing. But I had to take off my button up at work the other day and my boobs were suddenly very present and for a minute there I absolutely hated them

Brain please I am suffering enough without you throwing this shit at me