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joanthelovely · 2 years ago

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Frosty: The return of the terror

I had recently re-watched the Frosty the Snowman original short and have developed fun new opinions about it. Its kind of interesting to revisit some of these shorts and adjusting my perspective from whimsical child to aggravated by everything adult. The challenge now becomes to watch one I haven't seen (and I've seen a lot)…one that has only been seen by adult eyes.

Digging through the backlog of sequels (why are there so many sequels?!) I found that the next one to watch would be Frosty's Winter Wonderland or as I am now dubbing, Frosty makes a Real Doll. What's fun about watching this as an adult is that I'm not coming to it with any kind of nostalgia. No rose colored glasses for me. Will I enjoy this or will it be bad? I do come to it with the understanding that I am not the intended audience, but I watch a lot of cartoons where I am not the audience and still find merit.

Frosty's Winter Wonderland is a kind of sequel that came out in 1976, so about 7 years from the original. I say kind of, because the a lot of the characters have changed and they've added new ones. It looks like they kept the same Frosty voice actor, but had to swap out the narrator due to Jimmy's deteriorating health.

Holy shit is that Andy Griffith?! I didn't even need to see the face to know who that was once he started speaking.

I guess we're trying rebuild Frosty. This is bargain basement WISH Frosty. No kids. Do better. You had a real one. Just..I don't know...call him? maybe?

Real Frosty looks like he's stuck in a Frozen Wasteland. His house is …dark and unpleasant. Certainly no Fortress of Solitude here. Does the sun ever come out? But hey, looks like winter's finally here. Frosty can just ditch the Pole and come back to town.

One new character we get to meet is Jack Frost. He's a bit jealous of Frosty, because Frosty is like the fun dad. Jack is more of the business of winter and what would these darn kids do if there was no snow. Jack just wants a little attention, because he's awesome and paying the bills.

Kids need to learn to keep their mouth shut. Here's how you make a villain right here. Talking shit to his face. Not even doing it behind is back. He could have just been some obnoxious guy at the party you say hi to and have a little bit of small talk, but no...

This is why he's going to steal your hat. It may be the wrong hat, but at least he tried.

Now for some miscellaneous winter fun. One horse open sleigh and all that with 2 horses. Figure 8's that turn into 9's. Definitely a questionable choice of friend for children.

The kids now notice that Frosty is depressed when they leave for the day. He goes on about how lonely he is when everyone is gone. He just waits for them to come back.

You know what you need Frosty… you need a wife. Someone who's beautiful and tells you your handsome. Like, no, kids. Maybe start with a pet? Have you seen his house? Would you trust him with another sentient being?

We'll call this segment "Lets build a real doll" because Frosty has some criteria…boy does he have some criteria. She definitely needs to be shorter than him…and I dunno, maybe some of those small Disney hands. I guess I'm grateful she has an actual snowman shape and isn't narrow waisted and big bosomed. The apron was a nice touch.

Now a name. We need a name. Where have i heard this joke before: Cleopatra Minihaha Neigh CornFlakes (really? this is getting a little tired fellas) How about we just settle on Crystal. That's a nice stripper name.

Here's where we also figure out that not just any hat will do. Frosty is going to mope for awhile and then suck it up and get her a present. Because when the ladies don't come to life for you, it's time to butter them up. Turns out it doesn't have to be a hat.

Happy Birthday :P Does she have to hold the flowers forever? If he has to wear the hat forever, does she have to permanently drag around the flowers? Hey…we're did they go? Did we just get tired of drawing them? Now we really are stealing Frosty's hat. Man down! Man down! Crystal…I think Jolene….I mean Jack Frost, is after your man.

Oh look, more flowers. I guess love wins. Now lets belly flop down to town.

Frosty…everyone is trying to sleep. I get that you're excited, but you are actively waking up a whole town of children after their bedtime. Where are their parents? Why aren't the adults getting upset…

Parson Brown. Haha, I get it. Clever. Way to bring in the whole Christmas collection.

I'm only allowed to marry REAL people. Where have I heard this argument before. Do we need to do a Snowman civil union then? Nope, just another magical snowman to do it. Are they growing on trees down here?

Must be nice that everyone can build a magical snowman now. Is he going to give the book back when he's done? I don't remember him from the end of the movie. Did they create and destroy a sentient being for the pure purpose of not having to marry 2 snowpersons?

Jack Frost is still being a bit of a bitch, but oh clever Crystal knows how to deal with a man. Be the best man? Iv'e always been the best man. You can come to our wedding and everything because we NEED you.

Now that everyone is best friends, Winter never has to end. Yay! Endless cold forever and ever. No schoool!

Darn it Parson, Why do you have to be such a buzzkill. No one cares about the seasons and the trees. More Snow days! Forever!

...ok fine...we'll go home

I like this movie, slightly more than the original, but not much more than that. I don't like how they dealt with sad sack Frosty. Could they have not struck up a friendship between him and Jack Frost? I hate that the first suggestion was lets build you a dependent woman to your specifications. Crystals cool and all, but she was literally built because Frosty couldn't cope with his diverse group of friends.

#Christmas 2022 #Winter Wonderland #Frosty #A man would rather build a wife than go to therapy #Jack Frost is best boy

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nerdgatehobbit · 2 years ago

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11/11/22

Don’t worry, Lugia, Billy, & Kim will return, but I wanted to mix it up for a bit with my new Mew plush sitting on my Beckett jacket because they’re both associated with genetics! … Listen, it’s the simple things that amuse me sometimes.

Edit: Hang on, it’s acting up on me. Hmm. :/

Edit 2: I figured it out! \o/

Speaking of Pokémon, yes I’ve heard the good news although I am concerned/curious what will be next. Right now I’m still really enjoying Sun & Moon Ultra Legends. Although the Adventures in the Orange Islands are coming up soon- probably less than a year at this rate!

I’m also increasingly curious/hopeful about if Pokémon Masters will have PLA sync pairs after the game’s first anniversary. I mean, if nothing else, it’ll give the app new content while waiting to do Paldea sync pairs. And yes, there’s likely to be Scarlet commentary from me once I have it.

I’ve been playing Dreamlight Valley; I’ve been enjoying it but I haven’t had a lot to say about it. No Milo nor Kida yet. Although to be fair, Belle & Stitch haven’t arrived despite being on the original loading screen. And only Gothel and Scar represent their movies. I don’t even know??

I haven’t yet re-watched SGA’s first mid-season two-parter, but you all will know when I have done so. >:)

XWP’s 3rd season has been a bit of a mixed bag for me so far but I’m still watching & reviewing for my blog. … I still need to resume ALOK’s first season. At this rate I’ll have to start over like I know I’ll have to with Princess Tutu. Though there at least I’ll be able to get screencaps on my second watch now that I have my Blu-Ray disc drive. I’m still figuring how to review Sailor Moon.

Sooner rather than later I’ll be doing my Power Rangers mini-watch. I won’t lie, it’ll be interesting to basically zoom through the first seventeen seasons. Lots of revisiting my favorites! 2023 is going to be the year of Power Rangers & DS9 on this blog. >:D

Speaking of anime, I really liked the first 2 volumes of the Spy x Family manga so hopefully I’ll be able to obtain the anime sometime.

My DS9 watch isn’t especially coherent; on a first watch I’m on the second season but clearly I’ve been going back to rewatch & get screencaps because I want to be just watching on the first time. The important thing is that I’m having a lot of fun! :)

… Although I will say that it’s weirdly impressive how accurate Julian’s hasty backstory will be. Him taking an acute interest/concern about whether or not Rugal’s adoptive parents mistreat him due to who he is. That’s not just Julian being compassionate and/or getting caught up in Garak’s riptide, it’s him projecting due to his own childhood, isn’t it? Same with him calling out Melora’s coping mechanism because he’s aware he’s on the other side of the coin in how they react to people due to a fear of rejection because of who they are.

Meanwhile, Rom hasn’t gotten his development yet, but I have come up with a somewhat depressing Watsonian theory on what was going on in “Babel”. It’s not that Rom couldn’t do the repair, it’s that if he had, Quark would have griped about how long it took him to do so. The idea that Odo caught Quark out because he oversimplified the lie is amusing one. The depressing part is why Rom didn’t actually do so.

I think it’s similar to what went on with Daja and her birth family before the events of the Circle of Magic quartet, where doing manual work was looked down on in Trader culture to the point Daja was scolded/punished for her curiosity about it. To lean into my foreknowledge, Quark hasn’t drunk the root beer enough to encourage his brother’s interest in mechanics, even if it appears to be necessary to do so for profit.

Admittedly the animated Justice League has gone up in my media backlog list after learning about Conroy’s passing. … Not quite literally yet, but odds are I’ll redo the list for real closer to the end of 2022. That’ll probably be the next ramble post.

#my ramblings #Pokémon #ds9 #other shows mentioned but let’s be honest this is *their* post #no wonder I tried to jam them together the other day XD #also this is me acknowledging I changed my icon

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youcouldmakealife · 3 years ago

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Major PSA

You may have noticed I’ve been updating my series a little slower than usual, and falling behind on prompts, and being downright CAGEY about BTT, and also, why is every single thing the Scouts right now? (they are my support tweedles) I’ve written less than my typical monthly goal over the past two months. Which is a problem! One I was concerned about! But is actually not the problem but a symptom of a bigger issue I have been ignoring like I’m Jared Matheson and burnout is my ex-liney and close friend dating my own sister extremely obviously in the background of my life. (don't believe his POV, there have been literal discussions about this in front of him! Justice for Julius! Erin requests no justice, she's enjoying this.) Just a note: I’m going to be pretty candid with you all and I’m going to be slapping a big ol’ trigger warning on it for major depression, generalized anxiety, and burnout. I feel like a lot of people are in a similar boat right now, and really don’t want to read about it, so for you, here is a TLDR! TLDR; I need a break for my mental health, which means I’m not going to be posting any new material, and that’s going to last through April at minimum. I will be working on the publication of And Then, but I can’t be more precise re: timeline on that at this moment. If you order something via Paypal you'll receive it within 24 hours, but beyond that, I will pretty much be a ghost in these here parts for awhile

And for everybody who wants more info...

I feel awkward about this, because I’m a privileged person who knows I’ve been pretty lucky in comparison to many when it comes to how the last few years have gone. Like: here’s me about to talk about burnout when I know I have healthcare workers among my readers (I am so sorry we as a society have gone from pots and pans to…literally everything that followed the pots and pans), and I have had the luxury of working from home, being relatively healthy, not juggling childcare needs, etc etc.

I also probably feel super awkward because talking about mental health continues to be awkward! It’s improved so much since I was first diagnosed with depression 18 years ago (...that was a mindfuck to write), but there's still a stigma attached, and a sort of 'mental illness is a moral failing' misconception I've internalized and am still actively trying to dismantle in my own brain.

I kind of don’t have weekends? Or days off, really. I don’t really have a work-life balance, let alone a GOOD work-life balance. Which I do not think is unusual among creative types nor among those who are self-employed, but that also translates to your work being your life. Which leads to your emotions and your self-esteem and your identity becoming tied up in your output to the point that any time off becomes a source of guilt and shame so when awake you’re either working or you’re feeling guilty that you aren’t working. Which…sucks? It sucks.

God I feel like way too many people were nodding along with that bit.

Anyway that’s kind of a problem when you have depression (it is also a problem if you don’t have depression, for the record!). Because depressive episodes are not particularly thoughtful about you maintaining your productivity, and when your mental health and self-esteem is so closely interrelated to your work, well, that’s how you get into a depressive spiral. And I’ve had a few of those spirals over the past few years, some situational, and some just thanks to my good ol’ faulty brain chemistry. And I worked through them the best I could, and when I couldn’t work through them, I got behind on all my tasks and and then caught up on them when I could work again. Which was ‘literally as soon as I am able’ rather than ‘when I feel ready’. See: guilt.

I wasn’t resetting my batteries to 100%, or even 75%, I was hitting 30%, going ‘oh I’m in the orange instead of the red now!’ and then going right back to work, starting with tackling the backlog of work that had piled up because of the whole dead battery thing. I wasn’t getting a break, I was just catching my breath and then diving under again, now with MORE to do. And when I wasn’t working I was feeling defective for not working.

I’ve been writing off some pretty severe signs of burnout with thoughts like ‘just a depressive episode, only way out is through’ ‘it’s winter!’ and ‘I’m doomscrolling too much!’ and ‘have you SEEN the state of the world, Taylor?’, which: let’s be real, have you seen the state of the world?

But writing, which has often been a safe harbour from the world for me, has recently become a source of extreme anxiety. So now it’s slowly morphed into ‘maybe you shouldn’t hit the final arc of two series simultaneously, Taylor, ESPECIALLY while doing edits of a book for publication’ and ‘it’s really hard to take mental health leave when you’re your own boss but also maybe your boss needs some mental health leave too?’ and a little bit of ‘hey everyone, due to <EVERYTHING IN THE WORLD> I am burnt the fuck out and if I don’t take a break I may actually poison this entire universe I’ve been working on for the past decade and I don’t wanna do that because I love it a lot’.

The prevailing advice for burnout is ‘take a break’. And it’s good advice! It is advice I acknowledge is the right advice! It is advice I really need to take. Especially so I can note that the world does not, in fact, fall apart in my absence (it pauses! Literally! That’s what happens when you’re a writer. It’s neat.), and that taking some time to myself is not the end of the world (George R.R. Martin really must be either the most chill or most stressed human alive at this level of book overdue-ness, there really cannot be any in-between at this point).

And it is indeed a break! Intermission, if you will. Not even a long one. Seventh inning stretch. I will be back! Again I don’t know how long I need but I know myself, and I will get bored real fast, and I will probably return with my arms full of stuff I made for you all.

Or maybe empty-handed! I am already giving myself goals and tasks for my burnout break, I am extremely bad at this.

Thanks for sticking with me through my various adventures and misadventures in Writing to Make a Living (Don’t do a make a life pun don’t do it…)

I appreciate the hell out of you all, and will catch you on the flipside!

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bomberqueen17 · 2 years ago

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decelerating for a moment

yeah that was. well. a lot’s been going on.

so i was at the farm for three weeks. the first week was like... mostly normal. the second week, Older Sister’s kids were up. I took them to the beach one day. The boys excitedly measured my house because they want to build a railing and staircase. Like, cool, why not!

Then the day they were leaving, the youngest one, my older niece, came down with a cold. Her older brother’d been getting over a cold. We didn’t really think much of it. So two days after they left, Farmkid also came down with a cold. Didn’t really think much of it. It was chicken day. We were busy. ALSO the culvert bridge that connects the house yard to the barnyard was getting replaced, which meant like, incredibly complicated logistics and a giant excavator and like, how the fuck are we getting these chickens from the barn to the farm store, and so on.

still dealing with that, wednesday morning Farmkid wakes up early and goes to check her own temperature and complains to her mother that this cold is not what a cold normally feels like. Her mother dutifully administers a COVID rapid test, which... comes out positive.

ARGHGHGHGHGHGHGHHHH

My MOTHER meanwhile has also had the same thought, takes a test, ALSO positive. Cue older sister’s husband racing home from work to test the children, and discovering that sure enough, niece tests positive. NOOOO.

So anyway. I masked up and we all spent the next two days doing insane amounts of work while blowing through the backlog of COVID rapid tests. I decided to come home anyway, as I was supposed to, on Thursday; I worked my ass off from 6am until 1pm in order to do this, and left at 2pm. Got home 7pm to find that Dude had bought me sushi, which was greatly appreciated.

Friday was my birthday. I tested negative, so I went to work, and then came home and fell the fuck asleep. But on Saturday morning I tested negative again, so I decided I could at least move to my own bed to sleep in (I’d been in the guest room).

Like a fucking dummy, I’d told myself, if you want any fuss on your birthday you’ve got to make it yourself! be sure to order yourself a present so it’s there when you get home! I did not do that, so my birthday was, well, a little depressing. But that’s my own doing. I have spent several days now trying to find myself something to get myself to cheer up, and I can’t, my ability to buy things is still fucked. Someday. We’ll see. I’ll just binge-spend a bunch of money on something I’ll later hate, that’s how this works. Oh well.

But. I have survived, and I never did get COVID, and now I’m Even Older, so I’ll take it I guess. I did get a fic published on my birthday and that meant that I was getting comments all day long which was really the only bright spot of the day, so I am immensely grateful for that.

[Also grateful: everyone in my family seems to have recovered from COVID, largely, and no one besides Mom, Farmsister, and both nieces got it, magically somehow.]

And now I have caught up on sleep and am going to hopefully get some shit done today. We’ll see!

#about the author #covid-19 #farm life #i should post excavator photos #very dramatic #very annoying

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slayemal-na-nerate · 2 years ago

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//Okay, so, obviously it has been... a while, and I'm very sorry for how long I've been away, and how I haven't said anything before now. Posting this on my blog that's been on hiatus the longest, because once I'm back, my hiatus will be completely ended across all accounts.

To summarize my latest disappearance, here's a list of everything that has happened in my life these past few months that has added to my lack of activity here.

Horrid mental health, including my depression being close to, if not, the worst it's ever been

Related to above note, trying to start a time-intensive magnet treatment, since antidepressants don't seem to work, only to have my insurance deny coverage for it for a bunch of nitpicky reasons, leaving me currently waiting to hear back on an appeal the clinic is trying to put through

Two traffic tickets, one of which I'm still waiting to fight in court

My car making horrifying sounds on the way to work one day, leading me to discover that my extended warranty wasn't set up properly and leaving me without reliable transportation for long stretches of time due to miscommunication between the warranty's insurance company and my mechanic while I was waiting for it to be fixed

Work schedule becoming a lot less consistent, with my shifts ranging from everything between opening to closing to miss, making my sleep patterns practically nonexistent

Multiple sicknesses and injuries, including my mom getting covid (she's better now, and I fortunately never caught it) and me currently being out of work due to my knees

Pain and stress from said knees leading me to forget to call in for jury duty the night before my group was asked to be at court the next morning, which, in turn, caused my mental health to spiral for a while, even after successfully attending the two days I was called in for after getting rescheduled the next week

Attempts to finish a backlog of chores consistently slowed down by physical and mental limitations

So, as you can see, my life's been fairly hectic recently. I'm not trying to excuse my absence or lack of communication, but I do think that all of my wonderful writing partners deserve some sort of explanation for where I've been. I never meant to be away this long, and I hope it won't be much longer before I return, but I don't want to potentially give any false hope to anyone, considering I've thought on multiple occasions that I would only be away for one more week.

When I do start writing again, I will be saving all the replies I owe as drafts and waiting until they're finished to post them all at once. Hopefully, this will prevent me from becoming overwhelmed by any responses I might've otherwise gotten in between posts. If you notice that I have not replied to you when those mass posts go out, please let me know, because I have unfortunately noticed that Tumblr has eaten up some or all of my notes on several accounts. Also, don't feel pressured to respond to anything if you no longer wish to write with me. I will do my best to ensure nothing like this ever happens again, but I completely understand if my lack of communication prior to this has shaken any trust some of you may have had in my reliability.

Once again, I am incredibly sorry for this situation and how I've handled it, but I hope to get back to writing with all of you again very soon.

#ooc

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birdship · 3 years ago

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Leave It In The Sun: Chapter One (a Disco Elysium fanfic)

Warnings: Full game spoilers, eventual spicy scenes, basically the level of adult content in the game itself.

General summary: A slow(ish) burn exploration of life at Precinct 41 after Harry and Kim wrap up the case and Kim makes the move to Jamrock. Mainly just about how Harry and Kim's relationship might develop, and a sort of character study of some of the employees of Precinct 41 in general.

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Chapter one summary: Two difficult weeks after leaving Martinaise, Harry finally reaches out to Kim. Chapter length: Approx. 4.3k words

The sun is only just setting over the streets of Jamrock, drenched in rain and neon. The city stops to catch its breath in the intermission between day and night.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: And so do you. You could’ve sworn the nearest payphone was, y’know, nearer than this. Maybe that bone-shattering gunshot wound also isn’t quite as far along in the healing process as you thought either.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Brilliant claws of pain rake down your thigh as you lean against the payphone and try to center yourself.

You glance at the phone resting in its cradle, with some trepidation. Phone calls are always a bit… difficult for you. Especially these days.

SUGGESTION: You can still change your mind.

VOLITION: No. You came here for a reason.

SUGGESTION: Or… you could always just call her instead.

VOLITION: *Focus.*

You take a deep breath. The late spring air is turning chilly in the slowly setting sun. The rain drizzles lazily as it has all day, showing no sign of stopping. A handful of people are still--or already--out wandering downtown Jamrock, laughing and talking and hurrying home and running errands and entirely focused on just about anything in the world *besides* a washed up middle-aged man having a minor anxiety attack and moderate-to-severe hip pain next to a public phone at 6:04pm in the rain.

INLAND EMPIRE: The loneliness knocks the wind out of you. You thought you were used to it by now. It’s worse outside, around people.

DRAMA: The threadbare costume you created for yourself in the privacy of your dark, trash-strewn apartment doesn’t seem quite as convincing with an audience.

VOLITION: Stop the goddamn pity party and pick up the phone already.

The receiver is light in your hand as you fumble for change and the crumpled slip of paper you’ve had in your jeans pocket for the last two weeks or so. You slowly, deliberately dial the phone number written on it, as if some part of you is afraid that your fingers might just automatically fall into the patterns of *her* number instead.

VOLITION: They might. But you’re done hurting yourself.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Well, maybe not entirely. Yet. But you’re done hurting yourself *with her* for sure.

INLAND EMPIRE: You still feel like you deserve that pain. But it’s wrong to keep using her as the knife you gut yourself with. She deserves better, even if you might not.

LOGIC: In any case, this isn’t about her. It’s about you, and it’s about--

“Hello?” Kim’s voice is muffled and tinny through the old, worn copper wiring. He sounds tired, but you guess that’s not particularly surprising. You’ve been pretty damn tired too.

“Kim, hey, it’s uh, it’s me,” you reply awkwardly.

“Harry? Do you need something?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is the first time you’ve called him since leaving Martinaise, despite carrying that little piece of paper around for the last two weeks. He’s thinking, why now?

“Yeah, no, I just happened to be downtown this evening,” you ramble, “and I thought--”

“You’re drunk,” he says. It is completely without judgment. A stated fact. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Harry Du Bois is drunk. “Where are you exactly? I’ll--”

“Wait, no!” you exclaim, a little too loudly. A nearby pigeon makes a mad dash in the opposite direction at the sound. “That’s not it! I swear I’m basically sober right now. Mostly.”

A long pause on the other end. “Alright,” he says plainly. “So what can I do for you?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Make no mistake, he’s picking his battles here and gingerly stepping *around* that “mostly.”

EMPATHY: He’s just relieved it’s even that much.

COMPOSURE: How embarrassing.

VOLITION: Just start over. Your first sentence was garbage, but you know you’re under no obligation to continue it, right?

You take a deep breath, then try again.

“Well, it’s really more about what *I* can do for *you*,” you say as smoothly as possible. “You know that big motor carriage exhibition in town? It just so happens I’ve got *two tickets* to it.”

Another long pause. “You mean the one that ends today?”

“Yes,” you confirm.

“And are you aware that it is currently around six o’clock in the evening?”

“Is it? I mean, yes. Yes it is,” you say confidently. “I am aware of the passage of time.”

“And you waited until now to do this?” he asks.

EMPATHY: He sounds more amused than annoyed, though you definitely detect a bit of both.

“Uh,” you falter. “Look, it’s open until 8:00, so do you want to fucking go or not?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: About half a kilometer away, Lieutenant Kim Kitsuragi is sitting in the kitchen of his new apartment, already in his pajamas and winding down for the evening. It’s a bit early for that, but he figures he should take the opportunity to rest before he tackles that mountain of backlogged cases he was promised upon making the move to precinct 41.

Two weeks ago, he said goodbye to the strangest man he’d ever met. A man he found himself inexplicably drawn to in the week they spent together, and whom he thought about every day since. Wondering if he would take the lifeline Kim tried to throw to him, or if that little slip of paper would just end up forgotten at the bottom of a vomit-soaked trash can in some shitty bar. Wondering if the dawning trauma of everything that happened in Martinaise and the restlessness from sitting at home recovering from its aftermath would combine to pull him down into a dark place beyond Kim’s reach for good. Wondering and wondering to fill the silence. And now finally the silence is broken, but whatever this cry for help is, it is not the one Kim ever expected to receive.

But he knows one thing for sure: it *is* a cry for help.

“Alright,” Kim says finally. He takes a sharp breath. “Sounds good.”

The walk to his apartment takes a bit longer than you expected. It’s not that far from the downtown payphone, but you still wasted a good 20 minutes on the journey.

ENDURANCE: You are expecting too much of yourself too soon.

INLAND EMPIRE: It’s always one or the other with you, isn’t it? Too much or not enough.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Twenty minutes to walk a few blocks? Fucking pathetic. What kind of cop are you? Hell, what kind of *gym teacher* are you? Man up.

ENDURANCE: No. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing at all.

PERCEPTION: Beyond the apartment door, you can hear footsteps and soft humming.

You knock, and the door opens almost immediately.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit. You were hoping you’d have a few spare seconds to think of something really cool to say.

REACTION SPEED: C’mon, say something fun and upbeat to prove you’re not a depressed sack of shit who’s been spending the past two weeks drinking alone in the dark.

DRAMA: Showtime!

“Howdy, pardner,” you hear yourself say.

SAVOIR FAIRE: Finger guns! For god’s sake, don’t forget the finger guns. Without them, you just look like a goddamn lunatic.

You do the finger guns.

Kim does not seem particularly impressed as he slowly looks from your outstretched gun fingers to the twisted grimace that now wracks your face.

“Please, holster those things before coming inside,” he says humorlessly.

You blow the pretend, metaphorical smoke from each of your hot weapons before stuffing your hands in your pockets. As you do this, he watches with an appraising look.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s wondering if this is *regular* weird or *drunken breakdown* weird. However, he is intimately familiar with your brand of stupid bullshit at this point and it doesn’t take long for him to place it in the former category.

“We should hit the road soon,” you comment as you peek curiously into his apartment.

“Hit the road,” Kim repeats with mild amusement, “in what?”

LOGIC: Oh. Right. The Kineema is property of Precinct 57. Not Kim Kitsuragi personally.

“Shit, yeah,” you concede. “But hey, if we call a taxi now--”

LOGIC: You’ll arrive just in time to immediately turn around and go home.

HALF LIGHT: You fucked up. You’re a fuck-up. Great job, idiot.

VOLITION: Try not drinking and blacking out all day next time.

LOGIC: Yes, but then…

“Fuck,” you inhale. “Fuckady-fuck-fuck. Shit. Goddammit.”

Kim waits patiently for you to catch up. You’re almost there.

“I should’ve called earlier, sorry,” you apologize. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

LOGIC: What is wrong with you is that you drank all last night, slept off a hangover most of the day today, and woke up in a daze about 45 minutes ago. But what’s done is done. No point in bringing that up now, right?

“Nor do I,” says the lieutenant with a small smile. “But whatever it is, I am no longer surprised by it, I assure you.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you repeat, leaning on the door frame pathetically, a congealed ooze of mental illness and embarrassment. “Sorry for bothering you in the first place. You’re always so nice to me, even when I’m a pain in the ass.”

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Which is to say *constantly.*

Kim says nothing. Just sighs almost imperceptibly.

EMPATHY: Your self deprecation is frustrating for him, and he does not know how to respond to it constructively and compassionately.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He *does* think you’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but a pain worth dealing with.

INLAND EMPIRE: For reasons beyond your understanding.

“Why did you agree to go in the first place?” you sigh. “You’ve got a brain that actually works, you knew it wasn’t gonna happen. If you’re trying to make fun of me, then, well…”

You pause.

“That’s just fine, I guess. Good job, carry on.”

He adjusts his glasses and looks away. “I appreciated the intention,” he says finally, in a measured voice. “And since I hadn’t heard from you the past couple weeks…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...He was afraid you wouldn’t bother trying again.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I’ve been kind of busy. You know how it goes after cases like that.”

“I do,” he says. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, “you’re welcome to come in if you like.”

You hobble into Kim’s sparse kitchen and collapse on a dining room chair. It creaks ominously under the velocity of the assault.

“I’m glad we have an opportunity to catch up,” he says politely, pulling up the other chair and gazing at your pained expression from across the table. “Your injury is healing well, I assume?”

EMPATHY: It is obvious that he does not in fact assume this at all.

You shrug, still trying to get a hold of yourself and push back the ache swirling at the edges of your mind.

He watches you struggle for a moment, then gently says, “it will take time to heal, but it *will* heal.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: *So please be patient and kind to yourself,* is the silent plea left unsaid. It hangs in the air pitifully. You both know it’s there.

“Time hasn’t exactly been a good salve for me in general,” you mumble.

He’s silent for a while. Opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again.

“Harry,” he says finally. “What happened in Martinaise is not your burden to carry alone.”

“I thought you didn’t like *personal issues*, lieutenant,” you say.

“I don’t,” he says with a frown, “but this…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: This is about me too, he thinks. As much as he hates to admit it. He doesn’t particularly like his *own* personal issues either. But the past two weeks were hard for him, and you didn’t make them any easier.

EMPATHY: He was worried about you, and--although he will never admit it to himself, let alone you--there’s a part of him that selfishly hoped you were worried about him too. At least a little.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He’s used to this line of work, and so are you despite the holes in your memory, but it never gets any easier to deal with some things.

EMPATHY: There was so much death that day. It haunts you. And now as you sit in Kim’s kitchen, the alcohol slowly filtering from your blood and leaving behind the dregs of a headache, you realize it still haunts him too. You both added perforations you never wanted to make.

ENDURANCE: It’s too much. Your head swims and your entire body aches in the throes of repressed grief fighting its way to the surface of a sea of quickly evaporating Commodore Red.

INLAND EMPIRE: Warning! Trauma containment center has been breached! Evacuate the area immediately!

HALF LIGHT: You’re going to cry, aren’t you? You’re going to fucking cry. Right here in his kitchen. Why can’t you keep your shit together for more than five minutes straight?

You are entirely unable to keep the tears from rolling silently down your cheeks, unbidden.

INLAND EMPIRE: You don’t have it in you to really cry properly, like a normal fucking person. Not anymore. Something has disconnected the wire from your “press here to begin sobbing during your emotional breakdown” button, and you’re not sure what or when.

ENDURANCE: But human beings *cry.* And despite everything inside you that’s broken and rotting, you *are* a human being. You can’t not be.

Kim’s standing next to you now, his hand resting comfortingly on your shoulder. He doesn’t say anything.

EMPATHY: That’s the point of this whole shoulder-touching business in the first place--your disconcertingly unhinged behavior has left him at a loss for words, yet compelled to offer *something.*

This goes on for the longest five minutes or so the world has ever seen. But finally, you’ve wrung it all out of yourself and the tears stop almost as abruptly as they began. His hand gives your shoulder a squeeze, then he sits back down in the chair opposite you, avoiding your eyes. He rummages in his pocket for something, then hands you a blue handkerchief.

“Where the hell do you keep all these?” you mumble as you reach for it. “Fuckin’... infinite handkerchiefs around here.”

“What can I say? I like to be prepared,” he says.

“For drunk idiots who throw up all over crime scenes and have mental breakdowns in your home?”

“Usually to clean my glasses,” he says flatly. “But at this point, I suppose it *is* fair to say that it’s also for your various crises as well.”

“Well, thank God one of us is prepared,” you say. “What would I do without you, Kim?”

He hesitates, a strange wistful expression tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. What *did* you do the past two weeks?”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t… That’s none of my concern,” he says quickly.

AUTHORITY: Who the hell does he think he is? You’re not a child who needs to be minded. You’re a grown-ass man who can sit alone in his apartment and get wasted if he fucking wants to. Assert yourself!

“Honestly? Drink, mostly,” you say with a self-conscious chuckle.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He just stares at you with the bleakest expression you’ve ever seen cross his face.

EMPATHY: He’s so tired. So frustrated. So disappointed.

INLAND EMPIRE: Oh God! He’s *disappointed* in you? This is terrible. Anything but that, please!

“I thought I was doing better,” you say quietly. “Guess not.”

“You were,” Kim says kindly.

INLAND EMPIRE: Tequila Sunset hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it still will. Maybe it’s inevitable. Maybe when you took up that mantle, it was like some sort of alcoholic event horizon. Tequila Sunset is the only way it was ever going to end. What other force in the universe could begin to exert as much gravitational pull over you?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: From the void we came, to the void we must return.

“Listen,” Kim tells you, “this is not surprising. It’s got to be harder now that you’re back in Jamrock.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: It’s *easy,* baby. All your old favorite haunts are here. You know all the cheapest bars, the sketchiest parts of town with the purest amphetamines… You can’t remember the names of half of them anymore, but the muscles in your legs can trace the steps there perfectly. That shit’s burned into your body forever.

“Yeah.” You swallow hard. “Anyway, what about you? How’s Jamrock treating you?”

EMPATHY: The darkness clouding his expression lightens a bit.

“Good so far,” he says. “I’ve actually only been here for a few days. G.R.I.H. wrap-up took longer than I expected.” He pauses and looks out the window. “But I’m glad to be here now.”

“Really,” you say with a laugh. “In this shithole?”

“It has its perks,” he says. “I’m looking forward to beginning work at Precinct 41.”

“You’re not working solo, are you?”

“For right now, yes I am,” he replies. “I’m fine with that. I’ve done it before.”

INLAND EMPIRE: The idea of sharing a workplace with him and yet not being at his side when he needs you… it makes you feel cold, lonely, somehow.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You have a duty to Jean. Jean is your partner.

SUGGESTION: Fuck it, just say it. You know what you want to say. Say it and get it over with.

“You should work with me,” you blurt out. “We were such a good team in Martinaise. We could keep those good times rolling!”

“I’m flattered, but,” he says, turning his head. “Satellite-Officer Vicquemare…”

“Doesn’t give a shit about me,” you say. “Fuck him.”

EMPATHY: That’s not exactly true. You know it’s not.

INLAND EMPIRE: But the truth is complicated. It’s easier to just boil it down to *fuck that guy.*

LOGIC: Jean is bad for you, and you’re bad for him. Or, you used to be. And has anything really changed? Are you really any different? Maybe it was just the change of scenery that fooled you into thinking otherwise.

INLAND EMPIRE: Same old Jamrock. Same old coworkers. Same old bad habits. Same old *you.*

“I’m not so sure about that,” Kim says delicately.

“Forget about him,” you push, suddenly more serious about this than you intended to be. “I can arrange this shit with Captain Pryce, and I can deal with Jean.”

“I… uh,” he coughs. “I don’t know what to say.”

DRAMA: You’re in control of this show now. Pull an honest answer out of him.

You point at him and narrow your eyes. “I know what you should say: what you *feel* in your *heart*!” You pound one fist against your chest over your heart to drive home the point, then wince.

PAIN THRESHOLD: Please don’t do that.

You break the dramatic pose and lean back in your chair again with a shrug. “Or just tell me to fuck off. None of this wishy-washy noncommittal shit, though.”

He’s silent for a long time, watching and listening to the rain as it picks up outside. Then finally he gives you an apologetic smile and speaks.

“Harry,” he says kindly. “Fuck off.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Translation: maybe. But not now.

EMPATHY: He’s not angry, he’s deflecting. This is by far the nicest way you’ve ever been told to fuck off. Don’t take it too hard.

“Alright, alright,” you say. “Forget I said anything.”

You spend a while just making smalltalk at Kim’s kitchen table. None of it means anything, but it’s nice. It’s a nice, good, human thing to do, sitting and chatting with him. Makes your “regular well-adjusted person” costume fit a little better. The rain begins to let up a little in the fading sunset.

“You know, we could do something else if you like,” he says brightly. “Here in Jamrock, I mean.”

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Yeah. Lots of stuff to do in Jamrock. Like speed and hard liquor. Or crying in the bathroom of a dive bar because you’re too fucked up on speed and liquor.

SUGGESTION: He probably wouldn’t go for that.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: There’s got to be somewhere else to go. Something else to do with him. Think. What do you want to do with him?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: Oh buddy, are you sure you’re ready to open that can of worms?

The lieutenant watches you as you rub your temples in an effort to massage the awkward thoughts out of your terrible brain. Then he says, “you know what, don’t worry about it. It’s fine, we can just stay here.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say. “Sounds good.”

“I’m going out on the balcony for a cigarette,” he informs you. “You can--”

“I’ll come with you,” you interrupt.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: He pauses, wondering how many you might’ve had already. Then again cigarettes are, shockingly, by far the *least* detrimental of your *many* vices.

The two of you step out onto the lieutenant’s rather small balcony. It’s still raining very lightly, but this is probably as good as the weather is going to get tonight. Good enough. There’s really not quite enough space for two adult men to comfortably lounge around out here, though. You try to make yourself as small as possible as you fumble in your pockets for a cigarette and lighter.

PERCEPTION: You hear the soft click of a lighter and smell smoke on the gentle evening breeze drifting over from your left.

“Fuck,” you grumble. “I forgot my light--”

You realize Kim is holding out his own lighter wordlessly, still gazing out at the city sprawling out below.

“Thanks,” you say.

He nods. He pockets the lighter again once you’re done with it, then leans on the railing and exhales smoke with a sigh.

ESPRIT DE CORPS: Outwardly, he is silent and pensive. He almost seems anxious in a way. But in truth, he likes this. He’s enjoying standing out here in the rain and the dark and smoking his nightly cigarette by your side once more, just like that first night in Martinaise.

You rest your arms on the railing as well and try to map his sightline. Your arm presses against his in the cramped space, but he does not react.

“Pretty bitchin’ view here,” you comment. “Comparatively.”

“Mhm,” hums the lieutenant. “By Jamrock standards, quite bitchin’.”

PERCEPTION: His hand dangles loosely over the edge of the railing. It’s a bit smaller than yours and much thinner, bonier. Sharp and angled like a marble sculpture.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY: A work of art. Just like the rest of him.

SUGGESTION: Wonder what that hand would feel like in yours…?

“Everything alright, detective?” Kim asks, smoke escaping from his lips as he speaks. You realize that you’ve been staring at his hand for longer than is generally considered acceptable by polite society.

“Just spacing out a little I guess,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Par for the course with you,” the lieutenant chuckles.

VOLITION: Don’t make this too weird. Don’t think about that cigarette dangling loosely from his beautiful hands, or how soft his lips must be, or how nice it would be to just give up all pretense and embarrass yourself and hug him tightly right here on the balcony. Whatever you do, don’t think of any of those things.

CONCEPTUALIZATION: Shit.

“Well, it’s getting late,” you say, stubbing out your half-finished cigarette in the nearby ashtray. “I should probably go.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. We’ve got work in the morning after all.”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: You do?

VOLITION: Just play it cool.

“Yes,” you say, nodding stoically. “Tomorrow is Monday. I am aware of this, and that is why I said that in the first place, and not for any other reason.”

SAVOIR FAIRE: Nailed it.

“Tomorrow is Tuesday,” Kim says flatly, his face expressionless.

“I know that!” you say defensively. “I was just testing you. Come on, Kim, you don’t think I’m really that stupid, do you?”

He starts to say something, then thinks better of it and instead takes a long drag of his cigarette before trying again. “No, detective. I don’t think that.” Then he puts it out on the bottom of his boot and drops it in the ashtray.

The two of you head back into the apartment as the rain starts up again. You pull on your tarpaulin cloak in preparation for the long walk back home. But as you reach the front door, the lieutenant stops you.

“You know, you could just stay here if that would be easier,” he says abruptly, looking tense. “It’s late, and it’s raining, and…”

ESPRIT DE CORPS: ...And the route from here to your home features at least a dozen bars along the way.

EMPATHY: He’s worried you might not be able to resist the siren song of their garish neon signs and blaring dance music spilling out onto the streets like a red carpet unfurling.

“And your injury,” he adds quickly. “It was causing you some pain earlier, wasn’t it?”

HALF LIGHT: You don’t need his *pity.*

INLAND EMPIRE: Maybe you *do.* He knows you too well already.

EMPATHY: And, for whatever reason, cares about you a little too much. A terrible decision on his part, really.

“Yeah, good point. Plus your place is closer anyway,” you reply. “Thanks. Sorry to impose.”

He gives you a little nod. “It’s no trouble at all.”

Soon, you’re settled in on Kim’s couch under a small pile of blankets that still smell like artificial flowers, cloying and too sweet, freshly laundered.

He says good night and disappears into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. It’s strange somehow, lying here in his living room alone in the dark. Like you’re somewhere you shouldn’t be. Like sneaking into a museum after it closes.

PERCEPTION: In the hazy twilight of impending sleep, you notice a calendar on the wall across from you. You can just barely make it out in the dim light, and you realize something.

“Son of a bitch,” you shout, “tomorrow *is* Monday!”

Just before you retreat into the blanket nest you could swear you hear a muffled apology from the next room.

#disco elysium #fanfic #harry du bois #kim kitsuragi #harry/kim

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downtonabbeyrevisited · 4 years ago

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Season Two Episode Two

Following a typically chaotic opener, Episode Two of Season Two strikes a far more sombre tone. The arrival of Henry Lang as Robert’s valet brings the first of this episode’s three plot points that address the impact of WW1 on the mental health of its soldiers. There is nothing funny to say about either shell-shock or suicidal ideation both of which are vast, complex issues that, for my money, Downton Abbey isn’t the vehicle explore in (because they require more time and depth than the pace of the plot in Season Two affords) and it certainly isn’t my place to make light of them in this rather irreverent corner of the internet. So I’m going to have a go at treading a fine line here. Forgive me if I stumble.

Lang is clearly in the grips of something awful and yet in an attempt to avoid the indignity of having maids in the dining room, he is bumped up to footman duty. He struggles throughout, culminating in him depositing his cargo on Edith’s dress. Mrs O’Brein has firmly taken Lang under her wing, recognising that he is struggling and offers him assurance and comfort that she has never gifted to Thomas.

Across the Village, Lieutenant Edward Courtenay is in the hospital having been blinded by gas. The use of gas (both chlorine and mustard) had a devastating impact on soldiers in WW1 but was also the root of the development of Zyklon B. Frtiz Haber, a German Jewish chemist, enabled chlorine gas to be used a weapon in WW1 and his research was later developed into the Zyklon process which was used by the Nazis to murder millions, including his own family. This is only one of a dizzying number of appalling ironies to be found in the World Wars but as I said last episode, I’m not a military historian so I’m going to leave it there. Edward had plans to return to the country after his graduation from Oxford to pursue the simple life (although one gets the feeling that his idea of the pursuit of a simple life will still be one that is very well upholstered). Thomas has taken it upon himself to read Edward’s letters to him and together with Sybil is helping him to adjust to living life with a different set of parameters. But growing pressure on the hospital’s limited capacity means that he is to be transferred elsewhere. All three voice their dissent at varying volumes to Major Clarkson who falls back on the very real backlog of wounded men. After Edward has died, Major Clarkson, Isobel and Sybil talk about a renewed need for the Abbey to become a convalescent home, an idea that has been bubbling under the surface for a while now. Meanwhile, Thomas has been left on his own to process both Edward’s death and the implications of witnessing a lack of support given by his own physician to those with depression.

The usually reliably jovial Mrs Patmore also has a more somber episode with her pursuit for the truth about the death of her nephew Archie. Robert finds that he has been shot for cowardice. Not only does this mean that her family is in mourning but they will now have to navigate the stigma and undue shame that came with having a relative die in this way. So entrenched in British life was the derision levelled at those who were shot for cowardice or desertion that it was only in 2006 that pardons were offered by Britain for 309 of those that were executed by firing squad during WW1. I know I said I’d leave it there with the military history, but that felt like an important bit of context.

We are now in 1917 and Matthew is still in the same trench that he was in 1916 (a detail I hadn’t actually noticed until I got the screen cap for this) so it looks like his strategy of downing tools mid-fight and continuously popping back to Blighty for important plot developments isn’t really paying dividends. Perhaps the addition of William to the ranks will help him? William certainly seems to think so and if the speed at which he moves through the various stages of his ‘relationship’ with Daisy is any indication of his tactical prowess, the British Front will not only be well within Germany’s borders but will be breathing down Russia’s neck in a fortnight. In any other episode, this would certainly get the award for oddest relationship dynamic but Sir Richard Carlisle exists.

Sir Richard makes his debut at Downton, having been introduced in name only in the previous episode. He and Mary met at Cliveden which is a regular haunt of mine, giving me hope that one day I too will from a strategic alliance with a newspaper magnate. He may know how to talk his way around a boardroom but he is lacking in the sartorial department. Whilst Sir Richard manages to avoid catching fire in his tweed, Lavinia is not free from the heat as he threatens her with his connection to her uncle. He may not know much about navigating the niceties of Downton, but at least he has cottoned on to the fact that any major disagreement should occur under a specific tree. Whilst Mary’s signature move is weeping into her gloves, Sir Richard’s is grabbing women by the forearm. A female friend of mine told me that one of her favourite things about the pandemic and the compulsion to keep 2m away from anyone (and not just emotionally) is that she has not been ’steered’ by a male hand on her lower back since 2019. It turns out that she can enter and exit rooms just fine on her own and I get the impression that Lavinia could get the gist of Sir Richard’s rage without the vice like grip of a man probably about twice her age.

Twinned with the ’tree of emotional conflict’, the ‘platform of romantic uncertainty’ provides the backdrop for Sir Richard’s proposal of marriage to Mary which is a declaration that really feels like it should come with a series of well-formatted charts. Mary’s heart, however, is still very much with Cousin Matthew. After being counselled by Carson in a type of conversation I cannot imagine her ever having with her father, she is on the verge of coming clean with Matthew. But in the second round of Lavinia vs. Mary, Lavinia declares that she ‘could not go on living’ without Matthew and Mary winds her neck in.

Also having a romantic entanglement this episode is Edith. Drake, previously of dropsy fame, has lost his farm hands and Edith turns up to offer her help in a wildly unsuitable trouser and heeled boot combo. But she soon gets down to it by pulling up a tree stump and flirting in a barn whilst a rather lovely border collie looks on (I’m currently trying to talk myself out of getting a border collie and this incident has done nothing to help things). After showing Drake that she can drink from a bottle like literally every single other human on the planet, the two share a kiss and some highly awkward dialogue that only slightly resembles ‘Carry on Downton’.

Whilst Edith is more than happy to crack on in a barn, Mr Molesley is much more backwards about coming forwards. Apparently having predicted the creation of ‘The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society’, he figures that a book is the perfect kindling for romance when you exist in a glossy depiction of the past. Sadly neither Elizabeth nor her German garden can lure Anna from Bates who is fast shaping up to be schrodinger’s boyfriend. Anna proceeds to make some odd analogy where she compares Mr Bates to her moon-based child, revealing a rather unhealthy amount of codependency in that particular relationship.

Romantic declaration of the moment

Again, it feels like anyone but Sybil and Branson should get this but I am an agent of chaos and here we are. Branson defends Sybil’s will to work and has ample opportunity to see her shine in her chosen field. The admission that she will not be returning to her old life is a little chink of light that Branson basks in.

Expressive eyebrow of the week

I nominate Carson’s entire face when he realises that he has taken on too much and goes an impressive shade of red. As Carson frets about spoons, sauce, and something I can’t quite fathom, he starts to resemble a man who is re-arranging the deckchairs on the Titanic. Carson’s battle to get a cork out of a bottle and knocking into chairs is a warm up to his rather dramatic collapse which is accompanied by a pretty disturbing groan. Sybil springs to action and he is soon efficiently ensconced in his own quarters.

Wait, what?

“I got a lot done on the train” Clearly Richard was on a train that was unencumbered with the wifi issues that plague the Pendolino.

“It takes a good deal more than that to shock me.” Mary’s shock-o-meter is a pretty odd instrument. It is unresponsive to corpses of diplomats but goes into absolute meltdown at the notion that she might have to live in a cottage.

“Let's hope my reputation will survive it.” I’ve not checked (and I categorically never will) but I would put money on the fact that someone has created a rarepair out of this.

“How can Matthew have chosen that little blonde piece?” Is Lavinia blonde? Women’s hair is not really my forte but I would have thought she was more akin to Tim Minchin than 1998 Justin Timberlake.

“I believe in this war. I believe in what we are fighting for.” William seems to have a better grip on what all of this is about than I ever did in high school history. The ‘A’ that eluded me is heading his way.

“I thought he might've died for love of you.” How I love snipey Thomas. It’s good to have him back. To borrow a quote from Bottas (another man who is currently living a life in which his destiny is his own demise) ‘traditions’.

“Fold it in, don’t slap it” The more season two goes on, the more I think that Moira is just an amalgamation of some choice elements of Julian’s kingdom.

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lyssala · 3 years ago

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I'm still Lyssa and I still unreasonably love Kingdom Hearts

It's been a while for sure! Almost 2 years I think; I stopped blogging as much around the time we moved and got new jobs. SO life updates are minimum. We still cosplay (though pandemic halted much progress and motivation), Freya is still as adorable as ever, I still am writing Fanfic because I never won't be but also motiviation and drive has been low (I did start on some TA Week stuff though!).

Other news, your girl was diagnosed with Anxiety and Depression stemming from years of undiagnosed ADHD which, heyo, also diagnosed with. I've been going through my blog here from day one and honestly, who is surprised? Not me when I revaluated myself with my ADHD symptoms. I've been medicated for all of the above and for sure living a much happier existance these days.

In regards to this blog, I've decided to try and use it again! Can't say how much how little right now but I'm working back through my archive to clean up excess ask memes, unsourced art (forgive 2012 Lyssa she did not know the ways), long conversation threads before Reply was an option lol, many duplicate posts and the like. It's taking oh you know a million years but it is clensing in a way. Also reminds me of the amazing people I met here and all the good times I had <3

I'll be removing some of my old fanfic but not permanetly! I'm looking into uploading them to another site as an archive so they aren't burried on my blog or out in the open on like AO3. I'll then post some permalinks on my blog here so those who want them can find them without digging through years of hyperfixations to find them lol

So yeah, just wanted to share and share my intentions. I probably won't be posting things for a bit as I want to clean everything up first but I'll at least be around and will respond to my backlog of messages when I can! Thank you all for sticking with me for so long <3

#personal #heres a life and blog update #for anyone who wants it #wow I've been like mass deleting so many posts #only because no source or lyssa seriously this is the 6th time you reblogged this post in a month #how was finding out you had adhd a surprise to you LOL

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killingsboys · 3 years ago

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Hello! First I wanted to say I love all your creations! I’m always curious about people’s creative process but I rarely ask them about it, I hope you don’t mind me bothering you with this ??! Do you make a list of sets/ideas and follow them or? You make a lot of sets, and all of them are so good, I wish I had this level of excellence and dedication in me. Also, do you ever gif something that isn’t very popular but you were really excited to gif it and looking forward to people seeing it and it just... flops? It’s been happening to me lately and I feel so stupid for keep creating only for myself... :( I know tumblr has been like this for a while, but I feel like the people who used to be interested in my creations aren’t anymore, and it honestly depresses me because it’s where I put my energy and creativity, you know? Anyway, keep creating, your sets make me smile❣️✨💌

hi anon !!!! first of all, thank you so so much for your kind words, you are such an angel !! you have made my entire day 💖 and i do not mind you asking at all, you're never bothering me!!

my creative process is probably a bit ~ chaotic ~ compared to others, but i don't mind sharing!! i very rarely make a list of sets i want to make. generally i get an idea and then it just sticks in my brain until i make it (this applies to every area of my life, not just giffing — if i think of something i want to write, or watch, or if i suddenly remember i have to vacuum, or if i think about cutting my hair, i literally can't stop thinking about it till i go through with it). a lot of my sets depend on what i've been watching recently; for instance, the now you see me gifset that i posted today was made in january after i watched that movie for the first time. also, i do post a lot of sets, but for the record, i do not make a set every day 😭 last year & the year before i had a habit of making sets and then leaving them in my drafts forever instead of posting them like a normal person, and eventually i ended up with nearly 100 sets in my drafts and i finally began queueing them to get them out into the world. because of that, i have been working through posting a backlog of edits for several months and i probably always will be 😭 so i have one gifset scheduled to post every day at the same time, and usually whatever set is posted was made a month or two before posting. right now i have an edit scheduled for every day up until april 9, so even if i go a week without making a single gif, i'm still way ahead of schedule. i just wanna explain that so nobody feels bad abt how long it takes them to make a set when i'm posting one every single day without fail — this is just the result of poor planning on my part, basically !!

also, yes, i have absolutely been there re: sets you love flopping :( i don't think any of my most recent sets have even cleared 100 notes which can be super discouraging. please don't feel stupid though, there is absolutely nothing wrong with creating for yourself. that's the main person you should be creating for! i know we all want people to love the things we make, and there is nothing wrong with that. but at the end of the day, the only person who truly needs to love what you've made is yourself. if you love something and you want to make a gifset or an edit for it, if you want to draw for it, or write for it, or even just talk about it, you should. even if your audience is just yourself. you should do what makes you happy! that's what tumblr & fandom are about! i know that for myself, when i stopped waiting for outside validation and just created for myself, that's when i became a lot happier with my experience on this website. that's a lot easier said than done, and there is truly nothing wrong with liking validation. but you can't let it be everything, you know?

i'm sending you lots and lots of love, anon. i hope you find more joy in your fandom experience soon 💖 i am always around to chat and you are always welcome to tag my in your creations 💛✨

#<3333 #thank you !!!#answered #love letters only💛#anonymous

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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

Text

I think I just had a massive paradigm shift.

So, we all kind of understand that humans have this constant need for validation. We all like to pretend we don’t, to brush this need beneath the rug and carry on with our bullshit like each of us aren’t screaming to be acknowledged.

To be seen.

To be known.

Guys, I think this is part of what love is. To be loved is to be known. It’s to be acknowledged at the most intimate level and validated at our core. And sometimes, I think that I am so caught up in my need to be seen, or more likely, the fact that my deepest fear is that this need will not be met - rejection, isolation, and preemptive retaliation - that I close myself off from the ability to see others.

Let me try to give you an example. Trigger warning for mentions of guns (hunting rifles), deer hunting, mental health, and suicide.

Yes, this is another Dead Dad post.

Today, I was going through some backlogged emails. With all of my life bullshit, I had let the inbox get a little cluttered, and it was time to clean house.

I stumbled across an email from Dad. He’d sent it two weeks before he died. The subject was, “My Life, My Lot.”

Listen, if you think I am melodramatic... lol, the genetics are strong here, okay?

Okay.

I opened it, and guys, my Dad had documented his entire life story. I won’t go into details, but there were so many things written there that I didn’t know about him. I’ll be honest, I had a little breakdown and couldn’t finish reading it. Not today. Today is his birthday, actually, and the universe just dropped this very painful, very beautiful gift in my lap.

It brought me back to a phone conversation that we’d had before he died. He’d been bitching about his group therapy class, about how the projects were silly and the questions were shallow. “Fuck a therapist,” I remember him saying very vehemently. He did mention to me, though, that his therapist had suggested writing about his struggles. He was reluctant, naturally. Dad was always very reluctant about ideas that weren’t his own.

I was deep in my Better Love shit by this point, and he only brought it up because he knew I was “a writer.” I jumped on this. “It might be good for you,” I told him. “It might help you. Sure as fuck helps me.”

The next time we spoke, the next day, he was actually pretty excited, a tone that I had long since only associated with opiates. I was skeptical - what are they medicating him with now? I wondered. I only half listened as he began to tell me about his group session.

Guys, he had written some of his story, and he’d read it aloud in group.

I perked up at this. “What did they say?”

Apparently they loved it. I was proud of him. I asked him to read it to me, and he started to.

Guys, it was incredible. My Dad could really turn a phrase, and I’d never known this about him. His use of imagery and metaphor really shocked me. I was impressed and I told him so. “That makes me feel really good, to hear you say that,” he said.

Looking back, that’s the most validation I ever received from my Dad. The fact that he considered me a writer, and that my opinion mattered to him. Fuck, that sounds so small, but it’s not.

In that moment, he saw me.

And more telling still, it was probably the last time he ever received any from me. His allotted phone call time was coming to a close, and I encouraged him to continue writing.

“You think I should?”

I really do, Dad. I want to read it.

He sent me that email, and I fucking missed it, guys. That’s not even the point of this post, though. Sometimes, life catches you by the throat and you just miss things.

The point is in the knowing.

There was one other time in the last year of Dad’s life that I saw him light up like that. I knew it was significant then, and its one of my most precious memories now.

Dad was a deer hunter. In the last five or so years of his life, he completely gave up on that (depression is a bitch that way), but since I finished school and moved back home, hunting was a childhood hobby that I picked back up with a lot of enthusiasm. I hunted from his place, because who buys a lease when Dad lives 30 minutes away? Duh.

Last fall, there was so much more urgency to opening weekend than buck fever. I knew, deep down, that this was the last season we’d have together. Things had been bad for a long time, but they were nearing unsustainable.

I knew that.

One evening, before I left, he was sitting in his chair. He did a lot of that, just sitting and staring into space. I glanced at the gun cabinet, and for some reason, I thought to ask, “Dad, tell me about your guns.”

I had to pull him to his feet, but guys, the way he lit up. He took each one out of the safe and started telling me when he bought it, the little tricks about which scope shoots kinda high and which one kicks like a bitch. How old he was, who he bought it from, memorable hunting experiences. Dad was an award winning taxidermist, so getting all of the old stories again, complete with props, was another gift.

I just watched him, guys. He was so present. Alive in a way I hadn’t seen him in years. He smelled like booze, but he was talking and smiling. Mom watched from the doorway, and I remember thinking very clearly to myself, Seal this moment in your mind. Pay attention. Dwell on it. Cherish it. It’s important.

That night, I validated my dad. I asked to know him, and I saw him.

Even if I didn’t recognize it then, that was an act of love to the deepest degree. Love in the only way a dying man could accept, and love that the only way a jaded daughter knew to give.

If I can take away a single life lesson from my father’s suicide, I hope it’s this:

I hope it’s that I learn to see people.

Not just to reciprocate good feelings when good feelings are received. That’s nice, but that’s not love.

Not just to go about my life with my head down, so wrapped in my own bullshit that I forget that other people even exist. Object permanence is a concept that even adult Jay struggles with, much to her detriment.

Not to be so stuck on my own fears that I miss that everyone around me shares them. True connection requires that first, we are opened. And to be open is to be vulnerable.

Not just to seek my own validation, but to also validate you.

I don't know, guys, I’m tired and emotional and just rambling now.

But this feels important, okay?

#tw: suicide #about jay #mental health stuff #jay rambles about love and other things she doesn't really understand #if you read all of this you are a saint or probably just as crazy as i am #will probably delete later #tw: guns #but not related to the suicide it's not like that #story time with jay

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