#always requires a lot of psyching myself up before going there. who knows what sort of horrors await

[amyisherenowitsokay]

You know what just to SPICE it up a bit imma say zadr too bitch

This bitch tryna give me arthritis smdh. Making me out myself for my dual-ship on main, can't even believe a bitch.

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. How did they first meet?

School. We must never forget the infamous handcuffs scene.

2. What was their first impression of each other?

Pure, unrivaled loathing.

3. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Gaz said "kiss already" and throws things at them when they're getting too far away from "I want you dead" territory and well into "you want to fuck me so bad and it makes you look stupid" territory. Professor Membrane thinks they're adorable.

4. Who felt romantic feelings first?

Dib. Hormones get the best of us all. You can only be obsessed with someone so long before motivations get blurry.

5. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Zim would nearly break his PAK and commit accidental die trying to delete the emotions or install an emotional inhibitor. Dib would have a full mental breakdown trying to sort through it, which would manifest poorly in his behavior and negatively impact his ability to engage in their usual altercations. Pro tip: if you are painfully attracted to someone, being in a position where they pin you to the asphalt or lean over your desk to hiss insults at you is a bad idea.

6. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

I stand by what I said on my ZAGR post in that Zim doesn't know what a soulmate is, or the concept of a soul, but given this is in regards to his arch-nemesis instead of a creature he's mostly indifferent too, he'd be pissed at the insinuation he was in any way bound to Dib. Dib's fragile psyche would not survive the revelation.

7. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Really empty. Their rivalry and parallel situations regarding neglectful authority figures is what keeps them going for so many years.

GENERAL

1. Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

As someone who thinks Zim doesn't understand even the concept of not being a possessive jackass, I think Zim just sort of concludes after awhile that, regardless of Dib's feelings, or even Zim's own feelings, whatever they have makes them wholly and entirely each other's. Just completely and hilariously misunderstanding the concept of a relationship, but still being incredibly presumptive in assuming they already have one. He also doesn't let Dib know of this revelation either, so eventually Dib explodes about his crush, and Zim's like "we are already together???? moron???" Dib could argue, and he kind of wants to, but he also never expected Zim to reciprocate, so he just sort of nods and is like "you know what, sure" and that's the end of it. They do not have an anniversary, but Dib's not really like that, and Zim doesn't know anniversaries are a thing anyways.

2. Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

Again, stealing from my own ZAGR post, but I don't think Zim's really a 'date' person who would plan out that sort of thing. Dib is an awkward moron with arguably worse social skills than even Zim, and mentally comes to the conclusion that dragging Zim on investigations is basically like a date, and Zim doesn't bitch about it anymore than expected, therefore he is a master of romance, so it's fine.

3. What was their first kiss like?

Awkward, and quick. Dib is not a great communicator, nor is he great at explaining things like human demonstrations of affection, especially not when Zim's scowling impatiently at him through is fumbling and stuttering. He just goes for it, and it's quick and he misses his mouth almost. Zim is extremely surprised, especially when Dib makes terrible excuses about needing to be elsewhere and flees. Zim does his own research, and their second kiss is predated by a lecture about being better than Dib at everything/Dib being bad at everything. It is much more successful, even if afterwards Dib instigates a fight about Zim's tongue being weird.

4. Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

First everything, except kiss. Gretchen kissed Dib in high school as a dare. Zim will never forgive her for it.

5. What’s their height difference? Age difference?

I'd die to make them the same height, but I think the image of Zim being average height while Dib is a gangly big boi is just too funny. Zim would be pissed, and Dib would be so smug but so uncoordinated.

6. What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Gaz interacts with them as minimally as possible, because they are loud and gross and annoying, but she's okay with Zim overall. They have a mutual understanding that Dib is stupid, completely reckless, and requires constant supervision to keep him from getting eaten by a ghoul or something. Gaz does genuinely trust him to skewer anything that tries to kill her brother, but she also knows that Dib isn't the only one with 0 sense of self-preservation. Dib was initially wary of Professor Membrane's reaction, because his dad is sort of unpredictable when it comes to his only son, but the Professor's only commentary is that he is glad his son finally made it official with his 'little green friend.' Dib then realizes that the implication in that perpetual comment about Zim had air quotes around that "friend" part all along.

Dib thinks Gir's gross and loud and doesn't get him, but he likes to team up with him and/or use him as a means to annoy Zim. The Base hates him, because now there's two morons with no sense of self-preservation that it needs to keep track of. Minimoose and Dib are bros.

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

Zim, if only because he is arguably more 'charming' than Dib's fumbling attempts at communication with non-paranormal parties.

8. Who gets jealous easier?

Zim. Dib I think would have his 'HTTYD Hiccup moment' as he gets older, but still has that ingrained low self-esteem from years of ridicule and abuse. He is completely oblivious to the new attention he gets. Zim, however, is not. Dib never really notices the cause of his weird snarling and clinginess, but he shrugs it off as Zim just being weird and continues with whatever he was doing.

9. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

Zim is a slut, I will die on this hill.

LOVE

1. Who said “I love you” first?

Dib. He says it casually, in the dark, when they're on a stake-out to find some wood goblin or something. He says it like he's talking about something plane and unremarkable.

I think a ZADR relationship would need Zim to be a lot more independent in terms of researching how romantic relationships 'work,' since Dib's not a great communicator, and there's an ingrained rivalry that will never dissolve between them, no matter how many times they kiss, so Zim would be a lot more motivated to figure things out on his own. He would, in this circumstance, know the weight of Dib's way-too-casual admittance, and it would be a huge shock to him. He'd be pretty shaken about it for awhile, and Dib's not bothered when he doesn't reply. Dib would be pretty sure Zim would never admit it, but he does, eventually, because he refuses to be a coward about it.

2. What are their primary love languages?

Verbal affirmations. With their self-esteems firmly in the toilet in Zim's kitchen, being able to have someone validate them who they respect would mean a lot to them.

3. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Dib. He uses it to start fights with Zim about linguistics and metaphors. Also, he's 99.9% positive Zim secretly is flattered by it, but hates that he is.

4. How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

Zim is very clingy, but Dib's too on the move to really pin down for a good cuddle frequently. He's twitchy and his minds always racing, but every once in a while when Zim's completely fed up, or Dib's running on fumes but still forcing himself on, Zim will all but pin him to a cushioned surface and force him to sleep. Neither of them are PDA people.

5. Who initiates kisses?

Zim. Dib's really shy about it, and also normally too distracted to pay Zim the attention he so obviously deserves, and often misses Zim's 'signals.'

6. Who’s the big and little spoon?

PAK not comfy against sternum. It's also easier to force Dib to sleep if he's the big spoon, because he can pin his limbs.

7. What are their favorite things to do together?

Paranormal investigations, and morally ambiguous and/or largely dangerous experiments.

8. Who’s better at comforting the other?

Dib, which is hilarious, because he's about as smooth as a cheese grater, but he is very attuned to the person he's been obsessed with for years, and he can also relate to a lot of his issues. While Zim usually shrugs off the sentimentality and the empathy, dismissing it as 'pity,' the affirmation means a lot to him.

9. Who’s more protective?

Zim. He has to anticipate his lover's stupidity to make sure he stays alive to hunt ghosts another day.

10. Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Verbal. Hormones are real, but there's something that eases the sting of years of abusive in a crooning praise or a sincere compliment.

11. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

https://open.spotify.com/track/3IvUhEVbbA81QnEVhsFHiH?si=b3c5787c9ff14105

12. What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

It is primarily age-old insults that lack the bite and sincerity they once had.

13. Who remembers the little things?

Dib. Zim isn't inattentive by any means, cataloguing all of Dib's weird habits and nuances and what not, but for all the compensating Zim does to keep Dib safe and healthy, Dib reciprocates in meaningful gestures. He remembers to pack Zim-friendly snacks on their road trips and ways to keep Gir entertained, if they have to bring him. He always checks the weather and has an extra coat, just in case. Never makes Zim feel bad about needing to check, just one more time, to see if he got any incoming messages from home.

DOMESTIC LIFE

1. If they get married, who proposes?

Dib.

2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

It's just Gaz, Minimoose, and Gir. Membrane is too far away to attend, but that was deliberate. Dib didn't want his tendency to make things about 'the Membrane line' effect the intimacy and importance of the ceremony. Also, Zim insists on incorporating some Irken rituals into it, so it'd be hard to make excuses and explanations to why Zim wants Dib to fuck with his weird pink backpack during their wedding.

3. How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

No kiddos. Neither of them would be interested, even if it was biologically possible.

4. Do they have any pets?

Seriously, Gir counts, right?

5. Who’s the stricter parent?

Dib. Zim refuses to parent Gir when Dib is more inclined to do it, since he's more irritated by it.

6. Who worries the most?

Dib has perpetual anxiety. So does Zim, but he masks it better.

7. Who kills the bugs in the house?

Dib, to prevent the gooey grossness that is Gir's bug-breath.

8. How do they celebrate holidays?

Just with Gaz.

9. Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Zim will strap Dib to a bed himself to get him to go the fuck to sleep, because it's been over 48 hours you insufferable human, and--!

10. Who’s the better cook?

Dib's idea of cooking is a microwave, salt, and pepper. Zim is forced to learn the wonders of human food to keep his idiot from dying of malnutrition.

11. Who likes to dance?

Gir.

[writer-ish]

hopeful hearts

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Brooke Spiers)

Word Count: 2,515

Rating: T (for now)

special thanks to: @openheartthot for being lovely and supportive and the inspiration for this piece, in part due to all the hard work she does with the chapter scripts each week. ♥️

Notes: This takes place during the Gala, before and after Ethan and MC’s very public kiss. 

I wanted to flesh out this beautiful scene in a way that breathed new life into it, delving into the psyche of these characters and further detailing their thoughts and feelings in those lovely moments. PB gave us a lot with this chapter... but sometimes, it still doesn’t quite feel like enough.

In other words, please enjoy my self-indulgence. 

Dr. Brooke Spiers sighs heavily as she shifts from foot to foot, hoping to ease the ache that is beginning to grow in her toes. The shoes she had touted as “so comfortable!” just a few hours earlier now seem like devices specifically designed to torture her into revealing state secrets.

She is tired.

The night is wearing thin, the sheen of such a spectacular display starting to dull around the edges. She finds herself longing for the more ascetic hospital she’d grown used to over the past two years. The decor is already tiresome; she craves the familiarity of its former sterility.

I should be walking these grounds saving asses and not kissing them, dammit.

She sighs again, her eyes casting about, looking for a reprieve of some sort.

She finds it almost immediately in one Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Exactly the familiar and welcome sight she’d required. It still amazes her how finding his form in a crowded hall or room can immediately set her at ease. As though something just clicks into place whenever he’s near.

Ah, says her soul each time. There he is.

She watches as the donor Ethan had been speaking to walks away. Continues to watch as Ethan’s shoulders sink, the man physically deflating before her eyes.

He looks exhausted, she thinks, a pang in her chest as she briefly allows herself to consider how full his plate of worries is. She watches as he heads to the bar and she finds her feet taking her in the same direction, practically of their own volition.

He looks up as she approaches and she catches the slight softening of his gaze, even as his full mouth stays in a hard line.

“Holding up okay?” she asks, hearing the gentle sympathy creeping into her tone.

“Ask me once I get this next drink,” is his curt response, as he gestures to the bartender.

“That bad, huh?” His abruptness no longer bothers her. She recognizes the surface-level gruffness for what it is: a shield. To protect a man who already has the world on his shoulders from caring about too many things all at once.

He proves her correct when he performs his telltale stress maneuver: squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Something is bothering him.

She waits patiently for him to tell her what it is, like she knows he will.

“I just wonder…” Bingo. “How did we come to this, Brooke? We should be solving cases, not rubbing shoulders with smug idiots in bowties.”

She nods slowly, resisting the urge to run her hand over his tense shoulders.

“I know how much you dislike this sort of thing,” she says softly, looking up at him through her lashes.

His breath catches almost imperceptibly as he stares back at her.

“For whatever it’s worth,” she continues, “I’m really proud of you for stepping up anyway.”

She can see how her words impact him through the way his nostrils flare, the piercing blue of his gaze narrowing with the dilation of his pupils.

He clears his throat and blinks the expression away quickly, turning back towards the bar. When he speaks again, his tone is dry. Back in control.

“Stepping up, as you put it, is necessary.”

As he speaks, the bartender slides him his drink. Ethan catches the glass and lifts it to his lips in one fluid motion, throat working as he swallows in a single swig.

“I always told myself I'd do whatever it took to save lives,” he says after a pause. “Whatever extreme measure was required. Which is why I'm compromising myself this way. You showed me that 'whatever it takes' includes making moral sacrifices, too. In fact…”

He pauses again, his eyes catching hers once more. She allows him to gather his words, sensing the weight of them.

“Somehow,” he continues eventually, “you've managed to make them without weakening your convictions or becoming jaded and cynical.” He shakes his head, as though the thought of it is a marvel to him.

“Ethan…” God, the way he makes her feel. There had never been a man like this one when it came to the effects of his fleeting words of praise. She would bend over backwards for a single throwaway acknowledgement, every time.

How embarrassing. Clearing her throat, she tries to gather the shards of her scattered thoughts (and dignity).

“Everyone knows how much you do to save people.”

He lets out a humourless laugh. “In the diagnostics office, sure, but have I really done everything I could? If I'd listened to you sooner, would we really be in this situation right now?”

The stark, self-directed derision in his tone gives her pause. Had he ever doubted himself in this way before?

Her hands itch to reach for him, but she holds back out of the agreements they’ve made, unspoken and not. Instead she settles for saying his name again, the syllables falling off her tongue like a caress. “Ethan…”

She sees how it hits him, in the way that his eyes close briefly and a slight, almost indiscernible shiver runs through him. She doesn’t realize that she’s caught her lower lip between her teeth until she feels the sharp pain of it.

Until his eyes catch on it and he swallows hard, before tapping the counter for another drink with a sigh.

“Honestly, it's not even the shilling for money that's bothering me. It's letting Naveen down.”

The words send a shock through her. Naveen? “What? What are you talking about?”

He rests his elbows on the bar, leaning forward as he waits for his drink, and stares at some distant point beyond them both.

“When I lose a patient, I stay up half the night turning possibilities over in my head. Things I could have done differently.”

She knows this. Knows how she does the same.

“And I can't help but wonder what would be different now, with the hospital, if I hadn't been so damned stubborn.” He rakes a hand through his hair with an aggravated sigh, then drops his clenched fist to his side. “Now that I see what I could have done…” He shakes his head. “How will I tell Naveen that his legacy fell apart...because of me?”

The vulnerability in his tone almost cracks her composure. She opens her mouth to respond, to tell him how ludicrous, how irrational he’s being, when a new voice chimes in from the side, fond amusement evident.

“I suppose you would say exactly that!”

Brooke and Ethan both turn, mouths agape at the sight of Naveen standing right behind them.

Ethan recovers first and remarks dryly, “You know it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“True,” Naveen acquiesces, the cheeky grin never leaving his face, “but I never could resist a juicy conversation. Besides, I think this concerns me fairly closely, don't you?”

Brooke silently looks over to Ethan, who is staring at his mentor with a furrowed brow and conflicted gaze. He doesn’t speak and neither does she, both waiting for Naveen to continue, likely for different reasons.

He doesn’t disappoint.

“Ethan…” His tone is soft now, though the good humour and affection remain, “you do know that what I built here, what you helped me to build...it was never about my legacy, or even about Edenbrook.”

Ethan is already nodding. “It was about the mission. For the people with nowhere else to go.”

“Precisely!” Naveen exclaims, as though Ethan has once again proven himself to be a diagnostic wonder. “And no matter what happens to Edenbrook, that mission will never end.” A grin splits his weathered and jovial face. “You'll carry it on wherever you go.”

Brooke feels her heart soar, as though Naveen’s words were meant for her, too. She knows what this validation means for Ethan - what it has always meant. Tears well up in her eyes as she looks over at him and sees the emotion in his own face.

“You really believe that, Naveen?” The question is quiet, though the gravity of it remains clear to them all.

Naveen shakes his head fondly, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around a shocked Ethan. Brooke sees how it takes him a moment to register the embrace, before he fiercely brings his arms around his mentor in return. The men slap each other’s backs once, twice, in a masculine acknowledgement of brotherhood, understanding, and even love.

After a moment, Naveen pulls back and holds Ethan at arm’s length, strong hands gripping broad shoulders.

“My friend,” he says, “it's the most important belief I hold. And for maintaining that legacy?” There’s a twinkle in his eye as he speaks his next words: “I couldn't be more proud of you.”

Ethan’s own eyes glisten as Naveen gives him one final pat, before turning and walking back into the gala, a smile on his face.

They’re alone once more. Brooke glances over at Ethan, unsure of what kind of emotion she might see on his face. It surprises her to see him clear-faced, eyes bright. He stands tall, taller than before as if that were even possible. He looks suddenly unburdened. Reinvigorated.

“So,” she begins and he almost visibly startles as he looks at her. The heat of his gaze washes over her, his eyes sweeping her up and down, the way they had when he walked into her apartment for the first time that afternoon. She swallows, feeling her nipples peak beneath the bodice of her dress, even as she tries to ignore her body’s response to him.

Clearing her throat, she continues: “What's next for Dr. Ethan Ramsey now that he's not so 'damn stubborn' anymore?”

Her lips quirk in a smile, even as she watches him closely, finely attuned to his next move—the way she would watch a tiger let loose from its cage. A thrill runs through her at the look in his eyes.

“I…” When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, and his body leans towards her almost unconsciously. “The thing is, I've been meaning to…” He shakes his head suddenly, as though frustrated with himself. “Oh, to hell with it.”

She barely has time to gasp before Ethan’s hands are on her, the tips of his fingers weaving into the loose curls at the nape of her neck. He draws her to him forcefully, loose limbed and sure of himself, and she has nowhere to go but along for the ride.

Their lips meet and it’s not the first time or the second or the tenth, but it’s revelatory nonetheless, an absolution and a celebration all at once.

She’s dimly aware that an audience is growing, but she can’t bring herself to care, focused instead on wrapping one arm behind his back and carding the other hand through his hair, his clipped locks silken beneath her fingers and slightly stiff from whatever product he’d used.

She tightens the hold she has on his hair and he groans softly into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her tighter. The kiss is soft, open, and wet, and she feels the lazy trail of its spark make its way from her lips, down her chest, and further still until she presses against him even harder, heated and restless.

“Ooooh!”

“Oh my god…”

“I knew it!”

A cacophony of exclamations around them slowly bring them back to reality. Brooke feels her feet gently touch the ground once more and Ethan’s strong arms loosen their hold on her slightly. He pulls away after a moment, breathing heavily, seeming as reluctant to part from her as she is to let him go. Their breaths intermingle as the last few wolf whistles and catcalls die down and the Gala attendees go into their dark corners to gossip further about what they’ve just seen.

Brooke is dimly aware that a song has begun to play, only because the tune almost feels as though it’s an extension of their kiss, slow and melodious as it is.

Ethan strokes her back and pulls away completely, before offering his hand.

“Shall we?”

She resents him his composure, looking only slightly mussed and otherwise perfect, his bowtie barely askew, while she is certain she resembles a feral raccoon, emerging from the dumpster.

“I don't know, Dr. Ramsey,” she murmurs, attempting to regain the upper hand ever so slightly. “I thought this wasn't even a date.”

She likes to throw his own words back at him, even good-humouredly, as a reminder that he best not deny what they have any longer. That he is as inextricably tied to her as she is to him.

He grins unabashedly, immediately taking her meaning.

“Just shut up and take my hand.”

The commanding tone in his voice sends a pleasant warmth zinging through her and she finds herself placing her hand in his before she’s even aware of what she’s doing.

He leads her out to the dance floor and wraps an arm around her, his hand resting on the small of her back. She can feel eyes on them both and it makes her tingle a little unpleasantly. She’s dimly aware of the knowledge that this was what he was trying to protect her from, all this time.

“I can’t believe you just kissed me like that,” she breathes, leaning into him ever so slightly, “in front of the entire hospital.”

He squeezes the hand he has in his own and softly presses her further into him. She inhales the scent of his cologne, masculine and sweet, and realizes that, despite her discomfort at being the centre of attention, there’s no place she’d rather be in this moment.

“It just doesn't feel like I need to pretend anymore,” he admits, his deep voice a gruff whisper as they sway.

“That was a very public way to get over your concerns.”

He shoots her a crooked grin that leaves her breathless. “It felt freeing, didn't it? There are some things crowds are good for,” he adds, slyly.

His hold tightens on her and she tries to get even closer to him, shifting restlessly, her breasts pressing against his chest. She has a sensation that surpasses contentment - a crawling need for the man before her, a need to be near him, even closer than she already is. Perhaps closer than they’ve ever been.

“Then again,” she whispers, her voice catching slightly. His gaze zeroes in on her mouth. She can feel his body, hard and alert, flush with hers, “there are some things crowds aren’t as good for.” She looks up at him, slightly breathless, watching as he captures and holds her meaning.

“True…” he murmurs, leaning forward and bringing his mouth to the shell of her ear. “But that's why they invented private offices. No need to pretend there. Or worry about who's watching.”

She swallows hard, her breath shaky.

She knows everyone’s eyes are still on them, awaiting their next move. What leaving now would mean for them, for her, in the eyes of the hospital and her peers.

The real question was: how much did she care?

✨✨✨

[if you’re interested in reading the “office scene”, feel free to let me know... I might just be persuaded to continue this thing ☺️]

[free-pool-trash]

folklore - isaac lahey {5/?}

hey! this part is honestly mostly angst? like i think the start of it is ok but the rest is angsty as hell, because pre-bite isaac <333

mostly isaac/reader in this chapter and a little Derek towards the end, also peter but mans can’t talk yet so idk if he counts?

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!!! reblogs and comments are so appreciated <3

word count: 4k

warnings: blood, sad thoughts, reader being sad, isaac being sad, mentions of abuse, swearing

FOLKLORE MASTERLIST

Taglist: @makeusfreefromthisfandom��, @cece-lives-here​, @chocolate-raspberries​, @belsandthings​, @dancing-tacos-23​, @truly-dionysus​, @britty443​, @tanyaherondale​, @furiouspockettoad​, @yunsh-17​, @random-thoughts-003​, @gloomybrieyxb​, @futuristicslimemongerbanana​, @linkpk88​, @big-galaxy-chaos​, @im-a-stranger-thing​, @riaisnotcool​ let me know if you’d like to be added <3

The lights in his room were dim as they always were when you walked in. It’d been nearly two weeks since you’d last visited Peter, between becoming a vampire and trying not to get in a fist fight with Derek every five minutes you hadn’t had the time or energy to visit your favourite Hale.

When your eyes fell on him a strange feeling settled over your chest, you couldn’t quite put your finger on the sensation but if you had to describe it in one word; unsettling. It didn’t deter you from sitting in front of the man the feeling was coming from, though. If you were trapped in your own body you’d probably feel a little unsettled too.

Not wanting to waste anymore time you sat down in your usual seat across from Peter, shaking the feeling off as best you could before giving him a pleased smile, “Long time no see. I’ve got so much to tell you…” You trailed off, shaking your head when you caught yourself waiting for him to reply.

“First of all I got attacked by a werewolf which sucked and now I’m a vampire which, coincidentally, also requires a lot of sucking.” Silence.

“And I made some new friends, which is cool- Isaac got a little jealous but it’s fine, I handled it. I feel bad keeping him in the dark about all of this but I just want to keep him safe y’know?” Of course you received no answer, opting to continue filling Peter in despite his usual lack of response.

“Your nephew has been driving me crazy, by the way.” You informed him, letting out a grunt at the thought of how annoying Derek had been over the last few days, “He’s got this tough guy thing going on, I think it’s just to psych Scott out honestly, which is fine! But it’s the fact that he’s keeping it up with me as if I haven’t known him for seventeen years!” 

If Peter had control over his body you knew he would’ve laughed at your annoyance towards his nephew, he always had. Whenever Derek teased you growing up, it was always Peter that you’d go running to.

“Uncle Peter!” The man sighed at the sound of your shrill voice, closing the book he’d been reading out on the porch as you ran up to him with an angry pout on your face.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asked, opening his arms as you threw yourself into them. You let out a puff of air, settling yourself on Peter’s knee as he sat on the porch steps. “Derek said that because I’m only six I can’t play basketball with him and his friends!” You whined.

Peter only scoffed, his arms pulling you close as he raised an eyebrow, “Don’t worry, sweetheart. They’re idiots, each and every one of them.” 

There was always something about uncle Peter, he had a certain tone of voice that made anything he spoke sound like gospel. If Peter said it, you believed it. That was just how it was, thinking about it now you figured that your attachment and high level of trust in Peter probably had something to do with the fact that he’d practically initiated you into his pack when you were so young. Truth be told, he was the hardest loss of the Hale’s for you to come to terms with because even though he hadn’t died he’d still been lost.

You twiddled with your fingers as your thoughts began to wander, getting the hang of heightened emotions wasn’t so easy now that you were sat in front of Peter, or what was left of him. You hadn’t noticed the tears that had built up in your eyes until they began to sneak down your cheeks, slipping down your chin and coating your neck with their salty stream.

All you could do was imagine that he was more than an empty shell, that he was himself and listening intently, that he was just waiting for you to finish before he offered his sage advice.

“I really wish you could tell me how to handle all of this.” You sniffled out, pressure in your chest growing as, for once, it was the weight of your own emotions weighing it down. 

Since being turned you hadn’t gotten a chance to stop and breathe or really even think about what was happening to you, living in a constant state of confusion, fear and loss. 

“I just feel… so lonely that I can hardly breathe sometimes-“ Your breath hitching stopped your confession in its tracks while your tears continued to fall freely down your face, there was no point in trying to wipe them away- you’d broken the dam.

Your watering eyes focused on the ceiling as you poured your heart out to the man who was essentially your second father, despite the fact he was more or less completely unresponsive you still couldn’t bring yourself to meet his empty gaze. 

“Nobody knows what I am, really. And it’s like I’m all on my own and nobody knows how to help me or- or anything!” Eventually you met his eyes and it was then that your feeling of sorrow grew considerably bigger, the pang in your heart sinking all the way down to the pit of your stomach as a new layer of tears replaced the ones that had just fallen down your cheeks.

“I’ve upset you.” You stated, heart racing at the fact you’d managed to upset Peter Hale himself.

Quickly you wiped your tears away, your face was still wet as you took a deep breath, shaking away the feeling that was eating you up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be crying I just- I really need someone to talk to, you know? Usually I’d go and rant to Isaac but I can’t tell him anything and it’s killing me but everyone told me not to and I also told myself not to… it’s a mess. I’m just so lost.”

Peter, as usual remained quiet, but there was something in his eyes- it was quick and barely there but you’d seen it. They’d flashed red. 

*

After you composed yourself, you left Peter’s room and made your way to school, you’d woken up early to visit Peter.

As soon as you entered the building your feet moved quickly towards your locker, you sorted your books out as fast as you could before making your way to Isaac’s locker. Your meeting with Peter had shaken you up and honestly, in the moment, you just needed your best friend. 

As usual when you arrived by Isaac’s side you alerted him by gently tugging on his sleeve, you didn’t know why but he was extremely nervous, to the point where you felt your own stomach beginning to turn. Even though you’d sought him out for your own comfort you discarded that plan as soon as you met his eyes, he needed to be comforted more than you did right now.

“What’s wrong?” You immediately blurted out, grabbing his free hand that hung by his side unlike the other that held his locker door open, knuckles turning white from how tightly he clung to the metal door.

Isaac only shook his head, he gave you the smile that he always gave you, the one that screamed “please don’t worry about me” but you knew better than to believe that smile because as gorgeous as it is, it’s fake.

“I’m okay, don’t worry.” He squeezed your hand in an effort to deter you, but yet again, you knew better. 

Letting your eyes roll, you furrowed your brows, “Seriously, tell me what’s bothering you.” You demand not missing the defeated look that fell on his face when he hung his head, brown curls falling over his eyes, “Nothing, (Y/n). Just the parent teacher conferences are happening tonight…” He trailed off as he shuffled his feet.

The realization of why he was so nervous about it hit you like a ton of bricks and you didn’t care who was watching when you threw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you with a sigh. “How is it gonna go?” You asked, already knowing the answer would be: not well.

Isaac’s arms held you against him tightly, stabilizing you as you had to stand on your tiptoes to get a good grip around his shoulders, ever since he’d had his growth spurt when you were both thirteen if you wanted to hug him properly you’d always need to get on your tiptoes. He wouldn’t lie though, he thought it was the cutest thing. 

“I’ve got a C minus in Chem.” He muttered against your neck, tightening his grip on you for dear life, you both knew Mr Lahey wouldn’t be pleased. 

With a little grin, in an attempt to lighten the mood you pulled your head back to look your best friend in the eyes, “Should we dip? Run away? Move to France?” The question was made with humor but you were really considering the thought of just dragging him out of the school’s double doors and flying away to somewhere sunny where the pair of you wouldn’t have to deal with any of the shit you have to deal with in Beacon Hills. 

Isaac gave you a sad smile, connecting his lips to your forehead quickly with rosy cheeks before disconnecting from you, “I think that would probably make things worse.”

Before you could respond Isaac shut his locker and spoke again, “Anyway, what had you so upset a few minutes ago?”

Deciding that today wasn’t the best day to confide in him you simply offered him a sad smile and weak explanation.

“Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Wanted a hug.” Isaac let out an airy laugh, tilting his head to the side with a smile.

He beckoned you in for a side hug, “Get in here.” Immediately you obliged, attaching yourself to the boy’s side as the pair of you walked towards your first class of the day.

All you hoped was that his anxiety didn’t get the better of him today or later on when his father confronted him, so, as any good friend with supernatural abilities would, before you parted ways you made sure to transfer some much needed relaxation onto the boy who was positively teeming with fear. For now, it was all you could do for him without exposing yourself, you prayed it was enough.

*

As the day drew on your mind drifted from your conversation with Peter to your conversation with Isaac constantly. Understandably. You needed to get on top of your heightened emotions and you needed to do it fast, because to put it simply; you were drowning.

But like you mentioned to Peter, nobody knew anything about anything, not even Deaton could tell you how to gain control or even tell you the full extent of your capabilities. The loneliness was what hit the most. It was that empty, distant, ever-sinking feeling that was slowly but surely swallowing you whole. Scott had Derek, not to mention Stiles, to help him figure out everything he needed to know, an experienced wolf and a loyal best friend to walk him through everything, to support him, to keep him grounded, to tell him the dos and don’ts of being a wolf.

What did you have? An unwavering loyalty to a member of a pack who was barely even alive? Half baked theories from books of lore that your parents managed to dig up from some dusty corner of the attic? Derek who spent all of his time focused on Scott despite a member of his own pack being in obvious distress? A best friend you can’t confide in because he’s just as broken as you are? It didn’t seem fair.

The bite turned you to a vampire instead of a wolf, every night you wondered why you’d taken this form when seemingly nobody else had ever been turned by wolf bite, the conclusion you’d come to was that it was just some sick karmic joke. A test of endurance that you weren’t sure if you were going to pass. The universe spotted you- hand picked you as it’s favourite love-sick, hopeless romantic with a heart too big for her body and with a soul that felt emotions as vast and deep as the ocean. It chose you, but the gag was you never wanted it to be you. For once, you wished someone else had won the prize that felt more like a curse.

It was all too much. You felt too deeply. Every emotion consumed you, every sound vibrated like bass from a speaker, every touch sparked like static and every beating heart made you hungry. But every time you even so much as pondered simply giving in to the feelings, of letting go of that rope that seemed to be holding your empathy close and letting it fall away, every time you entertained those thoughts that voice, from the first night, would ring through your skull and echo until you agreed to the words being spoken by the oh so familiar voice. Don’t let it kill you.

Scott had been nowhere to be seen all day, nor had Allison, it was only when you’d spotted Stiles sitting alone at lunch that you’d realized that the wolf and his girlfriend probably ditched. 

The final bell eventually signaled the end of the school day, solemnly you walked alongside Isaac towards the doors of the school, stomach twisting with anxiety knowing that the next time you’d be seeing him he’d more than likely be barring a new bruise or emotional scar.

“Can I drive you home?” You asked, hoping he’d say yes but understanding when he shook his head no, “I cycled here, I’ll take my bike. Thank you though.”

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, looking at him with worry clear on your face, it was all you could focus on and you were half sure he could feel it too, your efforts of masking it failing.

Isaac could feel the worry seeping off you, but even before you’d turned he always had a knack from knowing when something was on your mind. He knew all your tells, when you were worrying about something you’d bite your lip and furrow your eyebrows, when you were upset you’d wring your hands together or play with your fingers, he knew how you were feeling whenever you were feeling it purely because of the mannerisms you used when you were around him. It’s how he knew that you’ve been hiding something from him since you’d been attacked, the boy didn’t know what it was but he saw it weighing you down, he was determined to get to the bottom of it so he could be there for you. He let out a heavy sigh when he realized in the moment that the roles were reversed and with the way you gazed at him he knew you wanted to be there for him, like you always were.

“I’m gonna be okay, nothing that hasn’t happened before.” He finally spoke in an attempt to reassure you that there was nothing to worry about but his statement only served to upset you more and he silently cursed himself as he watched the corners of your lips sink downward. “It shouldn’t happen ever.” You told him softly, trying your very best to keep your composure when you heard your voice crack.

Glancing around quickly, Isaac grabbed your wrist and tugged you towards your car, knowing how much you hated getting upset in front of people he took the initiative to carry on the conversation in the confines of your car away from the rest of the prying students.

Once you were both situated in the front seats, Isaac spoke up, “I know that you hate seeing me hurt, I know it shouldn’t be like this but it is. I’ll survive, you need to stop worrying about me so much, (N/n).”

“You don’t deserve this.” You muttered, sorrow dripping from each word. 

“(Y/n)-“

“No Isaac! You don’t deserve to be treated like this! Every time I see you hurt it makes me so fucking angry because when you tell me what happened you say it as though you had it coming! But you never do, you never have it coming!” The words left your mouth in a high pitched string of cries as Isaac simply lowered his gaze to his lap, hating how your voice shook in agony for him.

With every word you spoke you became more and more worked up, tears trickling down your face freely now that all the cars in the parking lot were more or less gone. “And every single time I wish I could do more for you- I wish that I could make you see what I see.” Your confession was fragile, the words barely audible as they passed your lips.

Isaac lifted his head, his own eyes welling up, “You have no idea how much you do for me so don’t think like that.” He demanded, his tone far more assertive than you’d ever known it to be.

His hand met your face, gently but quickly, his palm cupping your cheek while his thumb brushed away your tears. For a second, you closed your eyes, imagining the feeling of his hand cupping your cheek happening under better circumstances before reconnecting your eyes with his.

“I’m gonna go home.” He told you, sad smile on his lips as you shook your head, gripping the wrist of the hand he still had placed on your cheek desperately. “Stay.”

“I’ll come over to yours tonight ok? But you have to let me leave.” When you didn’t move, he sighed and pulled his hand away from you himself, trying not to wince at the hurt look on your face.

Your best friend opened the car door and stepped out, leaning in with an arm resting against the top of the door with a look on his face that you couldn’t pinpoint, that feeling had returned to your chest though, the light and flowy one. “Love you, kid.” His lips formed a cheeky grin when the nickname caused you to smile, he hadn’t rubbed the fact he was two months older than you in your face recently, you should’ve seen it coming. Finally allowing yourself to give him a weak smile you gave him an equally as weak, but still meaningful, “Love you too, idiot.” Before he shut the car door and made his way towards his bike.

*

To put the cherry on top of an already stressful day when you got home Derek was waiting at your dining table expectantly. The first words leaving his mouth being, “Where’s Scott?”

You rolled your eyes at him, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a blood bag out of your fridge, Stiles had been sweet enough to fill some bags for you since you were both still trying to work out the whole euphoric feeding situation, feeding on Stiles on a school night usually meant Stiles being completely away with the fairies the next morning and obviously you needed to feed during the week. Blood wasn’t as tasty cold but as weird as it was to admit, it still slapped.

Taking a sip from the small straw sticking out of the bag you raised an eyebrow at the wolf in front of you, “I dunno, Derek. Where’s my hello?” 

“This is serious.” He growled, “So am I.” You rebutted, taking another sip as the man grew more irritable.

He didn’t answer, only growled at you, he was probably hoping you’d buy into his ridiculous power play. You didn’t, obviously.

Nonchalantly, you lifted yourself up onto the counter of the kitchen island, facing Derek and sipping your blood happily.

“Growl at me all you want, D. Scott might buy into your big bad wolf act but I remember when you used to watch Barbie movies with me every single day.” You told him matter of factly, “Things are different now. Scott needs my help.” At his statement your carefree demeanor faltered. You needed his help, but not once since you’d been bitten had the man you considered a brother offered you even a morsel of support but yet here he was in your home, asking for a beta he barely knows.

“If Scott was around today would you have come to see me?” You asked him, keeping your voice as steady as you could.

Derek shook his head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “No, because I’m looking for Scott.”

Slowly you nodded your head, allowing his words to sink in. Today had been emotionally draining, sure, but you couldn’t find the strength within yourself to leave this alone.

“So where exactly am I on your supernatural list of priorities? Or am I even on it at all?” The question was harsher than you intended but Derek had a fairly hard head, if you wanted to get a point across you sometimes had to be a little less than gentle with the delivery.

The wolf groaned, head falling back in exhaustion, “Can we not do this right now?” 

Slapping the now empty blood bag down beside you and crossing your arms, you glared, “Answer my question.”

He gave you a hard look, standing up from his seat in what you assumed was an attempt to intimidate you, “I’ll admit you’re not my top priority right now, alright? Scott needs me, you’ll be fine.” A humorless laugh left your lips as you jumped down from the counter, squaring up to the taller man before you with absolutely no fear.

“Are you sure about that, D? Cuz last time I checked, Scott has Allison and Stiles and Deaton and you telling him exactly what to do and when to do it. I have no one.” Derek bit his tongue, his jaw clenched and lips pursed before he gave you a response, “He needs all the help he can get. Your abilities aren’t as difficult to get the hang of as his are.”

“Oh yeah?” It was a challenge, not only had he managed to piss you off and upset you at the same time, he’d also managed to erase the pain of your own transition in favour of defending Scott. 

Derek sighed, the voice in his head telling him to step down when he noticed your fists clenched tightly into balls against your side, “Look (Y/n)-“ He started before a gasp ripped from his throat when you arm gripped his.

The anger, the fear, the pain, the loneliness, the confusion, the weight that came from feeling everything all at once, you made him feel it all, not releasing your tight grip on his bicep until he’d looked down at you with tears glazing his eyes.

Roughly, you ripped you hand from his arm, purple eyes glowing as you stood chest to chest with him, “Maybe if you bothered to check up on me you’d know that my shift wasn’t easy, I don’t have the hang of my abilities and every single morning I wake up and think about how much easier my life would be if I just let them destroy me.” You were seething, Derek’s face was painted in shock as he stood at a loss for words.

“But hey! By all means go help Scott. What’s pack loyalty anyway?” Your words were seeped in venom and as soon as they left your mouth you took advantage of your enhanced speed, running from the room only leaving a gust of wind and an emotionally overwhelmed Derek in your wake.

[idealnreal]

Maruki palace overanalysis part III

Thanks to @appleyjuiceboy​ for helping with the insanity, and @goalexstark for requesting. Part I, Part II. Really long post ahead. Lots of feels.

Back into the palace monitoring room, the cables are gone. From this point on, we will encounter six journal pages, four memory rooms, and three will seeds. According to Morgana, Maruki likely never intended the memories to be seen. Will seeds are mini treasures -- aka sources of distortion. While the journal pages, like all diaries, are meant to be private. We have come to the depths of his psyche-- perhaps manifesting beliefs that he is not fully conscious of, or tries to keep hidden from others. And in this second-third of the palace (starting from the cables to the garden puzzle) we also see his systematic view of the world in full force. This will be a long post.

So starting with this first part, we come to a dimly lit corridor with similarly dimly lit rooms full of filing cabinets and mini monitoring rooms with circular stations. In one of the filing cabinet rooms, we find the first journal entry. Before we get into the text, it’s interesting to note that the journals are signified by a mess of papers strewn about, with the metaverse logo sorta watermarked over it. We will see the same sort of mess again in the memory rooms. For someone who is quite calm, organised and systematic, these messes always signal something important or emotional for him. One can imagine Maruki, flustered and upset, searching for something, throwing the papers around.

The first journal entry is found sticking out of some filing drawer. The text is as follows:

“ Feb. 2. Tomorrow is Rumi’s birthday. I’ll be meeting her parents … My hands have been shaking an awful lot lately. Will they let their daughter marry a low-level researcher like me? Now I’m getting even more anxious… When I told Rumi how nervous I’m getting, she just laughed and said I think too much. She may not have understood my problem, but I do so love her laugh. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep with my nerves like this, but I need to lie down anyway. I’ve been getting the worst headaches lately… I might be pushing myself too hard for this thesis. I just really want to be in top form tomorrow. I know this diary was originally just for research notes, but now I hope I can look back at it with Rumi someday and feel nostalgic.”

When Maruki set the February 3rd deadline, he said that this was the day “ I lost everything that mattered to me,”. Rumi and her parents were attacked on the night of her birthday, and on the night they announced their engagement to her parents. The night that was supposed to be happy and full of hope for the future became the worst possible night of his life.

Maruki seems to suffer from some anxiety -- but of course any person would have nerves before announcing an engagement. He’s worried that he isn’t good enough for Rumi or her parents. That they wouldn’t accept him as a son-in-law, or as part of the family because of his occupation and standing.

It also seems that even at this point, he has started to awaken to his persona, with the headaches and shaking hands. This is interesting because within this game’s logic the person needs to have at least some interaction with the Metaverse and have a will of rebellion to awaken to their persona -- or to even start awakening to it. He was already working on cognitive pscience at this point, and he was aware of the potential benefits of it’s use -- as a form of psychiatric therapy. He was already rejecting the status quo of life and of his field -- there was another way, a more effective way, to heal people. And it’s also possible that this note is hinting that he has had some fleeting interaction with the Metaverse. Afterall, we see that people who first enter the Metaverse experience headaches. But the game doesn’t give any more hints on this.  

The second journal note is also within the same area, near what looks to be some kind of video tape archive. The note reads:

“ Apr. 9. I just can’t believe what’s happened. I’ll never see Rumi’s parents again… I don’t even know if Rumi will ever come back to me. Her heart’s been completely closed off ever since that day. Why did this happen? What did Rumi do to deserve this? Do we really have to go on suffering these consequences? My headaches are getting worse -- I’m even starting to hear things. Am I having some kind of breakdown? I can’t lose it … I have to do something to help Rumi.”

This entry is dated two months after the incident. We don’t see any entry in between, or any hint or any other expansion into what really happened during the incident. As far as we are told by Maruki himself is that it was a burglary that killed two people and maimed a third. Which to me, is highly suspicious. Burglars would not kill, not even when they are desperate. And it’s even more unlikely in Japan with one of the world’s lowest murder rates.

We know for a fact that Maruki tends to lie or wave away details when it comes to his own past and own feelings. Like when Ryuji asked him if highschool is when he first found romance, and when Maruki said that he and Rumi just broke up because he was ‘spineless’. I suspect there is a lot more about this incident that Maruki isn’t admitting to us-- but neither the palace nor the game ever explains it. (I have a theory, but that’s for another day).

If there is more to it than a burglary, it’s very likely that he’s suppressed it so much and hid it away somewhere that we never get to access. It’s also telling that all references to the incident are all in relation to Rumi’s pain and how it was she who suffered that night. He never even admits that he too lost something that night, and is still suffering from the trauma.

So the two months between the entries as well as the opening two lines, also signal that he was indeed traumatised by it. It’s not hard to imagine that in those two months, he couldn’t process what happened, and even by April, he still questions accepting reality. He also thinks that he’s having a breakdown -- and one doesn’t need to be a psychiatrist to know that when one starts having auditory hallucinations, it means something is really wrong in the brain department. Of course, we can infer that these hallucinations are Azathoth trying to manifest, but as far as Maruki knew, he was indeed losing it. But he forces himself to pull it together, to suppress this pain and to hide his symptoms, for Rumi -- and for his research.

It is likely that he avoided getting help or admitting that he was suffering from migraines and hallucinations. The chances of his research being funded, accepted, and published, all hinges on his reputation as a researcher. And unfortunately, as much as Japan has come a long way -- it is still detrimental to any professional to be diagnosed with a mental disorder. We also know that at this point he was already looking for funders and backers for his research -- reputation becomes everything.

We come to a room that looks like a server room, and this is where his first will seed is. The server room is a mess of tendrils and cables -- while the door itself is barred by a holographic lock, and some branch-like tendrils. The ‘flower’ looking textures that surround the door are holograms again of what looks like circuits.

Voice tracks will usually play upon opening a will seed door, which is usually the palace ruler reinforcing their distortion, and Maruki’s voice track is one of the more audible ones. The tracks will play randomly for each door, so there’s no order to things. Thanks to Jester for making out what they say:

“R-Rumi… I-I…”

“No matter what I need to do… I’ll reach my goal.”

“What can I do to make you understand?”

“What’s wrong with an alternate reality if everyone is happy?”

“I’m so close… just a little further…!”

“Just a little more… and everyone will be happy…”

“Why… why can’t we come to an agreement…?”

The man is tired, and he’s pushing himself to keep going. Some of the tracks are also questions, probably in response to Joker and the Phantom Thieves, trying to reason with them.

Moving on from this, we find more monitoring rooms, with lots of screens, cables, and glass floors that look down into what looks to be server rooms. The rooms are typically dark, illuminated only by the neon teal lights and screens.

We also then come across the first locked gate, with an authentication question. The fact that these gates require the intruder to at the very least know some parts of his past -- signify that he does want people to understand him and where he’s coming from, as uncomfortable as it is. This is especially important given how closed off he was about his past prior to this-- represented by the fact that the only way you can get these answers is watching memory tapes that, according to Morgana, are likely memories he has tried to suppress. Speaking of which…

Before we go into the memory itself, I want to note the design of these rooms. As highlighted before, messes like strewn paper, disorganised shelves, represent something emotional or upsetting for him. And no better is that demonstrated than in these memory rooms. Papers are strewn, filing boxes and books are stacked haphazardly, filing baskets and stools lay toppled. There is no clear organisation or consistency in these rooms -- and it looks as if someone had come in, thrown everything around, as if searching.

These rooms look very old-school research rooms and are lit only by an old CRTV -- in direct contrast to the high-tech aesthetic the rest of the palace has. And most of all these rooms look abandoned and forgotten. These rooms hint at the core of his self -- before he became obsessed with healing the world, the self that was confused and lost after the Incident.

It’s also interesting to note the fact that his memories play on the very small CRTV -- while in comparison earlier Sumire’s memories played on a wide screen LCD TV. He puts even more distance with his own (grainy) memories than the memories of someone else.

Okay, now we get to the first memory tape.

It starts off in Rumi’s hospital room. And from a later journal entry, we know that this is at least sometime in August, which means its been six months since the Incident, and four months since Takuto began to write in his journal again. Rumi is in a catatonic state, and it seems that she is somewhat responsive -- even if she can’t speak or move much.

Takuto is trying to cheer her up by suggesting that he bring her snacks and flowers. His tone is cheerful and gentle, knowing that Rumi can understand him -- but is simply unable to respond or speak. He knows she’s traumatised, so much to a point that she’s too scared to move. He’s trying to show her that it’s safe, and most importantly, that he’s there for her. Being an empath, loving her as much as he does -- this would’ve been incredibly painful for him. But for her sake, he tries to smile.

He then goes into telling her what’s been going on in his life, and explaining his research and how he wants to use it. From this, we know at least one of the first uses he envisioned for cognitive pscience was to stop crime before it’s committed, by changing distorted cognitions that lead people to doing bad things. He wants to make sure what happened to Rumi would never happen to anyone else. This is perhaps going one step further than what the PT are doing. Yes they’re both stopping criminals, but in Takuto’s conception -- it’s stopping crimes before there are any victims, rather than waiting for victims to be created.

He also tells her that there are some potential investors into his research, and that theres a chance that research into cognitive pscience will be properly funded. He’s excited for it because it is the first step to bringing cognitive pscience into real practical use. This also hints that at least for the past few months, he’s been working on his research again -- and trying to hide his symptoms (re: hallucinations, migraines) because he’s actively looking for funders.

He tells her that the ‘culprit’ has been caught and that she doesn’t need to worry anymore. He then mentions ‘Family’, and Rumi responds to that, repeating ‘Family’, then ‘Takuto’. As far as we can tell, these together seem to be her triggers -- and she’s sent into a PTSD episode. She yells for her parents to be given back, and cries out for them. Takuto tries to calm her down, but is unable to until the nurses arrive and (probably) sedate her.

This is another hint that the Incident was more than a simple burglary -- and somehow Takuto was more involved in the Incident than simply a bystander who couldn’t protect her when the burglar ‘was trying to escape’. And it’s also suggested that during this Incident, Rumi’s parents were being held -- perhaps as hostages?

I have a theory that the Incident was really more of an attempted assassination of Takuto -- very likely by Shido (who we know does know of Takuto’s research). While we don’t know the exact years the Incident took place -- from the journal notes, we can safely say its AT LEAST two years prior to the start of the game. I would go further to say that this was before Wakaba’s death or even Goro’s awakening, because it seems that Shido doesn’t yet have the power to cause mental shutdowns. And because of that, he’s would try the old fashioned way to shut Takuto’s research down.

However, instead of killing Takuto, Rumi and her parents suffered. It’s also interesting to note --IF this theory is true -- why Takuto was left alive. But thats pure hc territory which i’ll leave for another time.

Also another hint to support this is basically other hints that Takuto -- like Sumire-- suffers from survivor’s guilt. He even mentions it when speaking to Joker and Goro in the beginning of the palace. It’s also hinted by the fact that Takuto has managed to change Sumire’s cognition so drastically that even he was surprised. This was because of how she spoke, and how she suffered from intense survivor’s guilt. But i’ll get into this more when we get to the third memory tape.

The doctor explains to Takuto that she was triggered, and Takuto knew that it was his own words that triggered her. He apologised for it -- and muses that she needs to be ‘set free from that horrible tragedy’. It’s at this point that his migraines return and he hears a voice. Then, Rumi starts to speak, “Takuto … Please… Stop this. I … Want to… forget,”

Rumi made her wish, and Takuto began to understand how exactly cognitive pscience can make that possible. And again, he hears the voice, clearer this time -- enough for him to understand and respond to it. In that moment, desperate to put an end to Rumi’s pain, to fulfil her wish -- he agrees to Azathoth (perhaps forming a contract and semi-awakening to Azathoth). In the Japanese audio version, he actually screams this part. Oof.

In an instant, her cognition is changed and she wakes up as a different Rumi -- a Rumi who’s parents had died when she was young, who lived with her grandparents, and therefore, a Rumi who has never met or grown up with Takuto. She’s forgotten everything that caused her pain before.

Takuto, shocked at this, begins to fumble around for a cover story -- trying to explain to this new Rumi why he was in her room and why he knew her name. Despite the dawning realisation that she has truly forgotten him, he tries to be cheerful and plays it off when she shows concern for him. He would do anything to make her happy, and anything to preserve her happiness, even if it is horribly painful for him.

The interaction ends when Rumi asks why he won’t be visiting again and “what about your girlfriend?”, and he replies by “She … passed away,” In this moment, Rumi’s portrait disappears from the text box -- signifying a stark break in Takuto’s perception of her. The Rumi he knew and loved really has passed away, and this -- he convinces himself-- is another Rumi. A Rumi that he must not see again.

He stands to leave, telling her that he hopes she feels better soon and “ I know the people who care about you wish the same”.

So for him, just as his life was starting to get back together after the literal worst night ever -- just as his research was starting to get funders -- he loses his fiance and long time love. This follows the same pattern as before, where the night of the incident was supposed to be a happy night where their engagement is announced, followed by a horrible attack and murder (possible assassination attempt on his life too). But that’s allright, hes NOT in pain!!! and suspicious of any good thing that comes his way!! because now, she can be happy. And that was more important than his own happiness!!! 

Oof. Okay this got long and heavy. Gonna end this here ! Stay tuned for part 4.

[vanessakirbyfans]

The six actresses also candidly discuss what outsiders get wrong about acting, juggling work and family and how #MeToo has changed the culture for the next generation: "We're getting all the bad stuff out of the way."

A fiesta grandmother. A persecuted jazz icon. A grieving mother. A sexual assault avenger. A pioneering scientist. A girlfriend scorned.

On a mid-December morning, six actresses behind some of the year's most dynamic performances came together for The Hollywood Reporter's Actress Roundtable: Hillbilly Elegy's Glenn Close, The United States vs. Billie Holiday's Andra Day, Pieces of a Woman's Vanessa Kirby, Promising Young Woman's Carey Mulligan, Ammonite's Kate Winslet and Malcolm & Marie's Zendaya. The group, who gathered via video conference from homes and sets in L.A., Montana, Atlanta and the U.K., discussed the business side of acting, their weirdest pandemic habits, the dangerous Hollywood misconception about creative genius — and the fact that "how women's voices are being received [is] the biggest thing that has shifted."

Let's dive in. What's the most surprising thing you learned about yourself during the pandemic?

VANESSA KIRBY I learned a lot about silence. I hadn't realized quite how much "doing" I was doing. Somehow I hadn't quite realized that, when you're still, it's just as present, you know what I mean? And I think it's taught me to do less. I don't think anything else would have taught me that in the way this year has done.

KATE WINSLET I became, and still am, actually, utterly obsessed with sweeping my kitchen floor. But down to the point where if there's just even dog hair, and our dog is a golden retriever, so it's blond hair, but I've got this microscopic vision where I can see the dog hair gathering in tiny little cracks, between the dishwasher and the sink, and I'll be like, "There's dog hair, somebody, quick, get me the broom." I've just become obsessed. And I didn't really care about things like that particularly before. Don't get me wrong, I like to run a nice home, but sweeping the kitchen floor? I mean, who cares about that? So I've become a bit strange about the kitchen floor.

ZENDAYA For me, it's that I never really got to know who I was without work. I've always been working. I started working when I was so young, and I've always just had a consistent thing happening in my life. I just had never spent that much time with myself. I was like, "What makes me happy? What do I like to do other than work? Do I have any hobbies?" I basically get to do my hobby for a living. So it's like, "What else do I even like?" Facing that was interesting for sure.

What is something people often get wrong about acting?

WINSLET I've been doing this job now for, I realize, 27 years or something. I can't quite believe that, but I do find myself getting almost agitated when I feel I have to explain just how hard the job truly is … I don't think people understand that preparation can take up to four, five, sometimes even six months depending on the kind of role you're playing. And also how absent, I think, you are from your family. Even if they might physically be with you — which, in my case is nine times out of 10, I'm fortunate that they are — but emotionally I know that I'm gone. I'm just not there, I'm not just Mummy, I'm not just Ned [Smith]'s wife ­— suddenly, I'm this other being. And I do find that part quite upsetting sometimes, and I wish I had more of a balance with that.

CAREY MULLIGAN There's a bit of an idea, and maybe more even within the industry, that to make something great, people have permission to behave badly, the idea of someone being a creative genius … that they are so inspired, there's a required level of darkness or unpleasantness that goes along with that, that you need to put up with. And I think people get away with bad behavior because of those reasons. In my experience, some of the most incredible people I've worked with have just been also the most delightful. So that's kind of a common misconception, that there are people who have to behave badly to psych themselves up at work, or that the process is just sort of utterly miserable. I think you can work really hard, but ultimately … the attitude on set should be one of warmth.

ZENDAYA It also is a business, which is something I've had to learn as a young person. Because often you get into it just because you love it, and you just want to be creative, and you just want to do the fun stuff, but it is also a business. There are contracts involved and a lot of things that don't necessarily contribute to the creativity or contribute to this idea of the freedom you think you'll have. I have been learning that as I grow up that there are bigger entities involved … money people … I often encourage young people who do want to do this to read your contracts, be aware, have those conversations, ask as many questions as you can, try to get advice from people, because it's easy to get stuck in a bad situation. And having that knowledge is really, really important.

GLENN CLOSE A lot of people think that anyone can do it. And of course, there have been documentaries and even some movies of people who are not trained as actors — I think that can happen in movies. I really take my craft seriously, and I think people don't know what they're talking about when they think that anyone could do it. I once had a brain surgeon who was the father of one of my daughter's middle school friends … He asked if he could come over and pick my brain about something. And so I said, "Sure," and he came over and he said, "I find being a brain surgeon depressing, I really want to be an actor."

WINSLET Oh my God.

CLOSE And it was all I could do to not throw him out of my house. He said, "But I have to make a living, so how do I do it?" It was astounding to me that he would have such an ignorant idea of what acting was. So I think, for longevity, it is a craft, and I take great pride. There's always something new to learn every day, but it is something that really does count. When you task yourself with becoming, looking through the eyes of another person and telling a story that will have emotional impact, that is craft.

Andra, how did you go about finding the voice of Billie Holiday?

ANDRA DAY Well, first she is very familiar to me just because she is my foremost musical inspiration. I worked with this amazing dialect coach, Thom Jones … Through the breath, that was a huge thing. I remember him always talking about, "Where it is coming from? How is she breathing?" And the emotional part of it as well, too. I look at Billie Holiday's voice as a scroll. And on her voice is written her entire history, every time she had been raped, every time she had been hit, every time she had victoriously sang "Strange Fruit," every time she smoked a cigarette and every time she slammed heroin or did a speedball. Everything is written onto her voice. It was also important for me not to do an impersonation. And that's something [director] Lee [Daniels] spoke to me about, too, we don't want to impersonate her, but sort of bring me through her. … I feel the same way about acting, that not everyone can do it. To be honest with you, I did not think that I could do it, and I'm still a little on the fence about it.

I don't think after seeing this film anyone will have any question about whether you can do it. Let's talk a bit about physical transformation for a character. Glenn, in Hillbilly Elegy, you're physically transformed. How did finding the look of that character help you?

CLOSE I began personally not wanting to be distracted by my own face. I wanted to have very subtle differences so that it was an experience, that you get into the full hair and makeup and costume, and there she is, because she's very different from who I was. But we started with a portrait of Mamaw and just the glasses, the hair, the ears, I changed my nose a little bit. And it was very, very finessed work to make it subtle enough that it wasn't me, but not so … I didn't want people to say, "Oh, there's Glenn Close with a really bad nose." That took a lot of wonderful collaboration coming up with that. We had video, we talked to members of her family who were incredibly generous in talking about her. And I asked just very specific questions: "How did she walk, how did she hold her cigarette? How did she sit? What did she wear?" which is basically what you see in the movie. She was very much a larger-than-life character. "What was her atmosphere when she came into a room?" I mean, all those kinds of things that just was a slow buildup [from] the moment you walk on for hair and makeup, and you feel that there she is.

MULLIGAN With Promising Young Woman, [director] Emerald [Fennell] is very intentional about building a world that felt very enticing. You wanted to build a film that you wanted to see, not something you needed to or should see. Part of the way that Emerald first presented the film to me was this Candyland environment that you're in and that Cassie lived in that in the way that she clothes herself. She's somebody who is very practiced at living with her rage and her sadness and her grief. She's figured out that hiding in plain sight and looking like someone who's functioning, people tend to leave her alone. It's very deliberate that she has candy-colored nails and blond hair. First of all, she looks very unthreatening, so no one would ever suspect that she's about to destroy a life, but also she's someone that you don't need to check on. You can leave her alone … Her main everyday look was just a way of saying, "I'm absolutely fine. You don't need to look at me because I'm just generic, and a girl, and you don't need to take me seriously." Because we so often trivialize the way girls and women clothe themselves. It was just a very easy way of putting up a boundary between her and the rest of the world.

WINSLET Everything about [Ammonite subject, paleontologist] Mary Anning is so, so held and so internalized. I had to learn how to do quite a lot of acting with my posture, or the back of head, or the backs of my hands, or just sometimes my eyeballs. I had to really find a different rhythm for myself, because I'm a very animated person … The longer that you do this, the more familiar audiences become with your mannerisms and how you are or how you sound. I just try to remove everything of myself, and there were days when I would think, "Well, did I do anything or did I just do nothing today?" And it would be really disconcerting, but just finding a completely quiet, physical stillness and heaviness to Mary came hand in hand with the costuming of her and the look of her and making her hair a little bit gray and having no makeup.

Vanessa, you have a harrowing, more than 20-minute childbirth sequence in your film. Can you talk about what that was like to shoot and how you prepared for that?

KIRBY It was kind of terrifying, because I haven't given birth or been pregnant before. We have seen so many deaths onscreen, we've rarely seen birth … I ended up writing to a lot of obstetricians asking if they'd let me come in and shadow them. One said yes, so I went to a hospital in North London and was on the labor ward for many days, which was quite unbelievable for me. I learned a lot from the midwives about what the whole birthing experience is like. One afternoon, my very last afternoon at hospital, one of the midwives came round and said, "Oh, a woman's just come in and she's 9 centimeters dilated. And I'm going to ask if she'd mind you watching." I just thought, "There's no way in hell she's ever going to agree to have some random person sit in and watch this really sacred moment of her life." But she did, she said yes, and so I got to sit with her and watch her go through six hours of … I mean, it was just probably the most profound afternoon of my life. I never, ever could have acted it without watching her, because I saw her go on this unbelievable journey, and I saw the animal in her take over. And it was only because of that, really, that I then felt like maybe I had a chance at attempting it. When we came to it … it was so physical and it was such a primal body thing. We did four takes the first day, two the second, and I think the fourth one is the one in the movie. It was a bit like doing a play, really, where once you're on, you're on, and you can't stop. And there was something magic about that, because you couldn't spend any time doubting yourself, you just have to do it.

Zendaya, when you were making Malcolm & Marie, it was really in the height of the pandemic. Can you talk about how working in that environment shaped how you worked and how the set functioned?

ZENDAYA Obviously, we wanted to do everything as safely as possible, so we created a bubble. I was putting my own money into it, as was everyone else. We were living in a hotel that was empty. It was just us, because everything was shut down. We were in the middle of Carmel, and we shot in this home that was in the middle of nowhere. We weren't allowed to leave for obvious reasons, and in that time of quarantining together, we were allowed the time to work on the material. When we got there, the script was only about 70 pages, and there wasn't a third act. Through that process of every day just being together, sometimes in a parking lot, just working through every moment and having these really long discussions about ourselves, our characters, relationships … Being able to have that time, that space with each other to figure it out, was really, really helpful. And really not having any other distraction, just being in it every single day.

We only had two actors, a very small, small crew. So we're all doing like four different jobs. I'm doing my hair and makeup and using some of my clothes, trying to remember my continuity because we don't have any ADs or scripties [script supervisors] or anything.

Vanessa, you've been shooting the Mission: Impossible sequel. Is there a lot of pressure to maintain safety on these big sets? How does it feel different?

KIRBY My sister's an AD. She started on a movie in the summer, so I kind of learned from her what the new parameters would be and how to navigate. And I was so hopeful when she went back, actually, because it was a funny feeling, I think, for everybody suddenly seeing cinemas closed. All the people that you love and you work with are unable to work in so many different capacities, including my sister. It gave me a lot of faith. But, I mean, you get used to it. There are obviously many guidelines, there are masks and lots of testing and things like that. But it gives me faith in the resilience, actually. And I feel like we will get through it — I can't wait for the day when cinemas are going to open again.

I was skeptical when the #MeToo movement began that there would be any kind of lasting change for women in Hollywood. But now we have more female directors, we have intimacy coordinators, Harvey Weinstein is in prison. Some things that I thought I would not see have come to pass. I'm curious, what has been the biggest change for you, personally, since the #MeToo movement started?

WINSLET The thing that is shifting in ways that will absolutely be long lasting is how women's voices are being received. There is a space that has been created for a younger generation that is going to be safe. My daughter is 20, and she just came into the industry about a year and a half ago. And what's wonderful for me, as her mum, is just watching her have a courage of conviction and self-belief that is just unwavering, because she's entering a time when we're clearing the shit away from them, these girls. These girls are going to change the world, and they're going to be strong, and they're going to be powerful, and they're going to be fucking amazing. And that is because we're getting all the bad stuff out of the way for them and all they will know is to use their voice in positive, powerful ways, to lead with compassion, to be strong role models and friends. And that, to me, is the biggest thing that has shifted.

This is the decade of women championing and supporting other women without judgment. This is happening right now, and that has come as a result of the mass united swell that has emerged from #MeToo. We've all come together, everyone is holding hands and walking in the same direction. And, for me, that is the single most exciting thing that is coming out of the awfulness of the past five years and those extraordinary women coming forward and sharing their painful, awful stories, and the horrendous Harvey Weinstein. The time now is about leading in a different way. Young women being able to lead with courage — in a way that I feel I certainly didn't have, that sense of courage and companionship with my peers, in a way that I think #MeToo has done for this generation of women.

This year, we saw the explosion of the Black Lives Matter movement globally. And at the time it happened, a lot of media companies were issuing statements, making large donations. Do you think there will be lasting changes from that movement as well? Three years from now, will we be talking the way we're talking now about #MeToo in terms of concrete things changing?

DAY My hope is yes. And I hope that it spawns lasting change that moves faster than it has moved in the past. I'm hoping that this is an uprooting of this idea of, "OK, pace yourself, we need to make sure we make people comfortable." That's really not how you achieve lasting change. We can't survive like this, we will not survive. It ends in what? Our destruction, it ends in war, it ends in just unrest.

That was one of the things even on set, there were a few moments that were really quite disturbing, for the cast and me. We were shooting a movie that takes place in the '40s and in the '50s. And there were moments on set that we realized, "Oh, wow, that has not changed." It may have transformed, it may look a little different, lynching looks different, but it's not changed. Truth is going to be a huge, huge, huge factor in seeing lasting change, and sustaining, and transforming, and changing a generation.

As Kate talked about, with the younger generation, I think they have such a need for transparency that will actually be very helpful. Part of doing the movie, the Billie Holiday story, was that the truth of her story had never been told, because the truth of her story was intentionally kept from the public. The respinning of narratives for people of color, or for marginalized people, or for women, has been a constant technique of oppression. And I think that's going to be hugely important moving forward: We have to pop the top off of these things. And we have to tell the truth about them, and understand the scope of certain groups of people, people of color, why the scope of their pain has been minimized or retold.

The retelling of these stories also has to do with telling the truth, some of the gritty, ugly truth about maybe some of our heroes. We have to say, "OK, this isn't for the purpose of destroying people, but we need to know these truths so we can actually move forward and not repeat them."

CLOSE I just have to say I'm sitting here and I'm so inspired by what everyone has been saying. It's quite overwhelming, it's so articulate and so beautiful what everyone has said.

WINSLET Well, we've got you to look up to, Glenn.

CLOSE I can't tell you, it's very moving to me to hear all this. I've been an actress for 46 years, and when I think of the change, the monumental changes that in my short time that I have witnessed, the expectation is going to be phenomenal when we finally can get back to doing what we are here to do. I think there's going to be an overwhelming amount of stories and new ways of telling stories.

What will you do differently in 2021?

MULLIGAN The first thing that came into my mind was that I'm going to go to the theater as much as I can, and the cinema. As soon as we can, I'm going to sit around people and watch something together with them. It just shocked me how much I missed that. I watched a medley of musical theater on television a couple of weeks ago, and it just made me cry. I just want to be a part of that. So it sounds quite trivial, but I think that is something I'm looking most forward to.

WINSLET You know, I never give time to myself at all, really, I don't. People will so often say to me, "Oh, you need to get a massage." And I think, "What? Don't got time for that." So actually, I just have enjoyed, quite honestly, just going really easy on myself. If I had a week where I think, "Oh, I've probably had too much toast. Oh, well." Or, "Oh, well, maybe I should do some more exercise. Oh, maybe I'll do that next week." I'm just kind of learning to go, "Oh, it doesn't matter." It doesn't matter. Life's too short, just enjoy this time, and it doesn't matter about all that crap. I think I'd like to hang on to a bit of that, actually. Because it's easy in this job to have to live by certain disciplines, whether it's just sleep patterns or times that you eat, for example. And actually just letting go of all of that has been really such a joy. Not enforcing any degree of sort of stress or structure on stuff. I've loved all that. So I hopefully I'll carry that on.

CLOSE I came here where I live now [Montana] because my three siblings are here, and I had spent my whole adult life away from them. And we're now in the same town. So, for me, work is so I can come back home. It's kind of changed things, it's not like I'm waiting at home until I go to work. It's really, really valuing the work, because it means that I'll be able to come home.

Interview edited for length and clarity.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

In Tatters: Four

“Welcome Back to Chainmail Crop tops, Today’s Table Top Adventure is brought to you by Skillshare-” Your voice is cheerful, and it reminds Bucky off the ad breaks for Radio dramas. He catches Steve’s eye and snorts. 

They’d practically begged to watch you record something. Usually, you worked in your apartment. In the second bedroom that served as studio space for most of the podcasts and youtube series, you did when you weren’t writing or editing for someone else. Currently, there were 6 people crowded around a card table in varying degrees of pajamas. You were, probably, the most comfortable in a sloth onesie that had little felt claws that flopped over your fingers. 

Steve and Bucky weren’t quite sure what they expected, but it certainly wasn’t this, and they were enjoying it immensely. Like they’d enjoyed everything else that had gone on around them in the last few weeks. You’d forced a friend to watch CATS the movie with you. You’d reviewed a classic film. You did part of a video series breaking down Marxist theory using, of all things, Barbie Movies. 

It was insanity. Utter insanity. But it was fun. 

You made people laugh. You made them laugh. And by the time taping wrapped on that podcast, their sides had hurt from laughing so hard. 

“Ugh,” you groan, flopping facefirst on the couch, cheek resting on your arm as an arm and a leg dangle off the cushions. 

“What’s the matter, doll?” Bucky asked, padding over and lifting the hood of your sloth outfit back so he could see your face. 

“My head hurts,” you tell him. 

Bucky frowned and kissed your temple, going to get a glass of water and some Tylenol. Headaches, Bucky had learned, were the shorthand you used for a lot off discomfort that made other people uncomfortable when you talked about it. Depression. Anxiety. Whatever another way, your brain could twist itself into knots. He didn’t doubt your head hurt. It was a small room, and things could get loud. But he doubted that was the only wrong thing. 

Steve tilted his head and watched you struggle to sit upright again to drink the water and take the pills Bucky handed you, ‘You hungry?” he asked, just generally. Bucky was always hungry. With you, it was hit or miss. When you shrug, and Bucky nods, he smiles a little, “I’ll order pizza,” he said, “Y/N looks too cozy to make her put on clothes.”

When you smile a little and lean against Bucky’s side, Steve feels his heart flutter. You don’t even flinch when his metal arm tightens gently around you and shifts you closer. And he knows it makes Bucky feel good when you don’t. He’d been worried about it, how you’d react when he took his gloves off. Or didn’t wear sleeves. But you hadn’t flinched, you’d laced your fingers through his the way you had before and kissed his cheek. 

“Definitely too cozy to go outside,” Bucky said, snuggling you closer, relishing the way you fussed at him for tickling you. 

Steve chuckled, and half turned, scrolling through his phone to find the app he used to order pizza. He liked apps. They meant he didn’t have to talk on the phone. At least not as much. And while he waited, he looked at the pictures that lined the shelf. One caught his eye. It was a group picture. You and a bunch of other people dressed for some sort of event. One that required matching purple t-shirts. A pretty girl was kissing your cheek, and it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s wearing a ring on the third finger of her left hand.

“Hey Y/N,” he said, picking it up and half turning, “What’s this from?”

You turn your head, and Steve watches several emotions flit across your face for a second. “Oh-” you say, taking a deep breath, “That’s from when I took my Fiance to California... We went to Disney for her birthday.”

“Fiance?” Bucky asked, not accusatory, just curious. 

“Yeah- Passion,” you answer. “I- yeah. That ended badly.” You don’t really know how to talk about that. Getting your diagnosis as Bipolar. The cheating. The lying when she said she was breaking up with you because you were ‘just too much’ while it was really because she already had a new girlfriend. You hadn’t handled it well. At all. 

“How badly?” Steve asked, sensing a story.

“Wound up in a psych ward for a couple days after I stopped taking my meds, badly,” you tell them, not looking at either one of them.

They both winced reflexively. Not in disapproval but at the tone of your voice. Like you’re waiting for them to be mad at you. Steve puts the picture back on the shelf carefully and comes to sit on your other side. They both want to ask. They want to know how things had gotten that bad. They knew about your medication. That you took it, and... thanks to google, more or less what it was for. They’d asked what you took. And looked it up. Not because they were judging you, bot out of concern for your safety, really. It was things they didn’t know were medications. 

“Sorry,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around your knees.

“What for?” Bucky laughed, “We got 100 years of history together... there’s no way we’ve told you everything. And it’s not like you could just casually bring up being hospitalized after a bad break up.” He kissed your head, and he and Steve wrap their arms around you gently. 

“It’s true,” Steve said, kissing your jaw, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

You sigh, “I just don’t know where to start.”

“Wherever you want,” Steve answered, “We’ll catch up. We’re old, not slow.”

You nod and tilt your head back to look up at the ceiling. “I guess it started when I had that first manic phase. Like. No impulse control. Straight lost my shit for a minute and wound up on the psych ward because Pash thought I was gonna kill myself or something.”

They stay close, listening and Bucky makes a soft sympathetic noise, “I didn’t know what was happening... Stuff had happened before but. Not like this. It was scary. And getting a diagnosis was kind of a relief... It told me that there really was something wrong. And that it could be managed. And it was fine. Until it wasn’t.”

You break off and take a deep breath, “Look. Long Story Short, Pash had been done with my shit for a while... and she was looking for an out. It didn’t take very long for her to find one. So she cheated on me for a while and waited until she could reasonably tell me “I just can’t handle this” and leave without looking like “the bad guy.” You know you’re leaving some details out. The fights and stuff. The people you’d caught her cheating with after your meds had tanked your sex drive for a little bit. The money she’d stolen from you and gaslighted you into believing you’d spent. They don’t need to know that. And you don’t really want to talk about it.

Steve and Bucky exchange looks over your head. Suddenly a lot of things made sense. They’d been letting you set the pace of the relationship. The number of dates, the amount of time they spent with you. How much intimacy there was. And they’d felt like you were holding back. Hesitating. They’d thought it was reticence about being a “unicorn” of sorts again. But the piece about your last relationship and being cheated on made things make a lot more sense. 

“Sweetheart,” Steve says softly, “I’m sorry.”

You shrug, “I mean. It’s been a year. She and this other girl are happy I guess. And that’s cool.”

“You deserve to be happy,” Bucky said, tilting your chin up carefully, “You believe that, don’t you?”

“Sometimes,” you answer, smiling a little, “Mostly when I’m with you two dorks.”

“Dorks?” Steve said, mock offended. “Who you callin’ a dork, ya nerd?”

You shrug, “I mean. I did film studies and art history in college... I basically majored in ‘nerd’. So... I’d say I’m a pretty good judge of dorks.”

“You’re running off at the mouth again, Darlin’,” Bucky rumbled, kissing down your neck softly. 

Steve smirks when your breath hitches and watches fondly. Bucky’s always had a gift for finding buttons to push and it’s honestly a joy for him to watch as he handily chases your train of thought out of your head. 

“Let us take care of you, huh?” Steve murmurs, kissing your temple. 

You whimper in need and Steve grins, reaching for the buttons on your jammies, “So snuggly, Buck. So soft and cute.”

“She is,” he agrees, leaving your neck alone and letting Steve pull you against his chest. “But I gotta say Stevie,” he teased, grinning when your face heats, “getting all three of us in her little bed is gonna be a trick.”

“We’ll make it work,” Steve said, kissing you slowly, “We gotta. Because we gotta show our girl a good time.”

“How good a time?” you ask breathlessly.

“Baby,” Bucky drawls, throwing you over his shoulder, chuckling when you yelp in surprise, “You’re gonna see stars.”

tags:

@past-perfect-future-tense, @lookinsidemyhead, @rinkashirikitateku, @dumbubblegum​

[angelsfalling16]

“Spa” Day

Inspired by this post and a conversation I had with the always lovely @wo2ash who this fic is dedicated to.

Summary: Baz asks Simon to go on a spa day with him, but Simon seems to misunderstand the meaning of it.

A/N: This was only supposed to be a couple hundred words, but I got a little carried away, so now it’s 4k words...

Read it on ao3

***

Baz

Simon and I are studying at my apartment this weekend. My roommates are either out of town or out partying, so we have the place to ourselves. Which means that my books and notes are spread out across the living room floor, and Simon is spread out across the couch pretending to be reading his science textbook.

It would be much more convincing if he’d turn the page every once in a while, but I can see that he’s tired of studying. We actually did spend a good hour or so earlier today quizzing each other for a couple of tests that we have coming up, so I think he’s just all studied-out.

We should take a break soon, walk down to the café down the street and grab some lunch. He is probably starving by now, and I don’t have anything in my fridge that is all that edible. I intended on going shopping today, but I have been busy with Simon all day. I will make a trip to the store tonight after he’s gone back to his own apartment.

I finish taking notes on the chapter I’ve been reading for my psych class before dropping my pencil on my notebook and stretching. A break really would be nice.

I look over at Simon, and he appears to be watching me, but he quickly returns to staring at the book in front of him. This time, he does turn the page, which makes it a little suspicious.

I take a moment to look him over. He’s stretched out on his stomach with his textbook propped against the arm of the couch in front of him. His long, freckled legs hang off the side of the couch.

It’s not necessarily warm outside, but it’s the warmest day we’ve had in a while. I was only mildly surprised when he showed up wearing shorts today.

After three years of knowing him, I’ve realized that he runs warmer than most people, so on the sunnier days, he can almost always be found wearing shorts and a t-shirt, even if it’s barely above 40 degrees out. Simply looking at him makes me cold and want to grab a blanket to throw over him.

Simon and I met when we were roomed together during our freshman year of college. Together in that small dorm room, tensions were always high. We were constantly at each other’s throats, and more than once, it came to fists.

After that year, I decided to move into an apartment with a couple of roommates, away from Simon, but we kept running into each other on campus and in classes.

At first, our interactions consisted mainly of hostile glances and harsh sneers, but after a while, we started trading pleasantries.

I even began to enjoy seeing him, hoping that he would be there every time that I turned a corner or walked into the student union.

It began as simple hellos, but after a while, we stopped to catch up and see how the other was doing. Mostly, I wanted to see if his roommate was as bad as he was, but it turns out he began sharing an apartment with his best friend.

Talking to him like that was so much easier than it was to talk to him in our dorm. It was like the space allowed me to breathe a different air from him, and that allowed my feelings to both grow and to not feel so urgent.

Falling for my annoying, incessantly messy roommate was one of the worst things that I’ve done.

Even though I couldn’t stand being around him, I also couldn’t’ stand the thought of being away from him.

I was grateful when my cousin suggested that we get an apartment together with another friend of ours because I had no excuse not to get out of that dorm room.

I never thought that Simon and I would have to deal with each other after that or that we would somehow become friends, but we weren’t just seeing each other for those brief moments.

It was like the universe was throwing us together, and it was hard to ignore.

We ended up in the same study group one night during sophomore year, and at first, because of the way that I had seen him study (or rather, not study) in our dorm room that first year, I thought that he would be someone who would bring the group down by either not participating or by asking questions that only someone who had not read the material would ask.

Instead, he turned out to be a great addition to the group. Better even than a few of the others who had definitely not done any of the reading and basically expected us all to summarize it for them.

Simon did participate, though, adding useful input, which would have once pained me to admit. He stumbled over his words at times, and rather than cruelly make fun of it like I once would have, I was patient with him and glad that the others were, too.

After that, we started to meet up to study a lot, bouncing ideas off of each other for essay topics and quizzing each other.

Sometimes, we met up with a larger group, but more and more often, we started meeting up alone, to the point that it seems like we meet up every weekend, just the two of us. And on the weekends that we don’t study together, I feel myself aching with the need to see him.

It’s ridiculous. I should be over this stupid crush by now.

Only, it isn’t just a crush. Because I’m completely, hopelessly in love with him. And that isn’t going to change.

I tried hating him. I tried ignoring him. I even tried just being friends with him. But none of it has worked. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get over him.

I am completely enthralled by him.

Simon clears his throat, and I’m pulled out of my thoughts. I realize that I have been staring at him for far too long, and I wonder how long it has been since he noticed.

Tearing my eyes away from him, my face grows warm as I start to gather my scattered study materials.

“Do you want to go for lunch?” I ask, standing up.

“Yes!” Simon practically shouts, jumping to his feet. “It feels like it’s been years since the last time I ate.”

I shake my head at his over exaggeration and fight a smile, knowing full well that he ate a huge breakfast this morning, just like he does every morning.

I grab my jacket from the hook by the door, and Simon and I walk in silence down to the café. Then, I order the largest coffee they have and half a sandwich while I swear Simon orders half the menu.

I’m even more convinced of this when he has haphazardly stacked all of various food items on our usual table which is far too small to hold all of it. (I’m pretty sure a couple of items end up sitting in his lap, but I don’t comment on it.)

I eat my sandwich in small bites while I pretend not to watch him quickly and methodically eat his own food. He offers me a bag of chips, but I politely decline. He simply shrugs before tearing them open and eating them himself.

I smile fondly at him, hoping that he doesn’t notice how lovesick I am, and I pretend not to notice that he keeps staring at me.

This is what is so confusing about him. I catch him watching me all the time, but he never shows any interest in me. At least, not the way that I want him to. But still, there are times when it feels like there is something brewing between us.

We spend a lot of time together, and it is more than just studying. We talk and laugh and genuinely enjoy spending time with each other, and it feels like we could be something more, but it is impossible to tell whether Simon would want something like that.

He and I have never talked about relationship stuff. Probably because we were never close enough for that when we roomed together and because the only person who I have truly been deeply interested in is him.

It’s most likely just wishful thinking to believe that there is something growing between us, but I can’t seem to let it go.

When we return to my apartment, we study for another hour or so before I get the feeling that Simon is going to leave soon.

Seeing that he still seems really stressed, I get an idea.

“Simon,” I say softly to get his attention, and the smile he turns on me has me going weak-kneed, and I’m glad that I’m leaning against the armchair so that I don’t collapse under the weight of it.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve seemed really stressed lately, so I was thinking that maybe we should go on a spa day to help us relax.”

“A what day?” Simon asks, looking adorably confused. His nose wrinkles and eyebrows pull close together as he squints at me.

“A spa day,” I repeat.

“What is the word ‘spa’? It’s like you’re starting to say a word but you’re not finishing it.”

I can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he’s trying to deflect as a way to turn me down without being rude. I’m about to tell him that it’s fine, that he can just forget about it, but he continues on.

“Are you trying to say ‘spaghetti’? Are you asking me to go on a spaghetti day?”

I raise a brow at the way that his eyes light up at the idea of that. I shake my head at him, not in answer to his question but more in disbelief. I want to be annoyed at his complete misunderstanding of what I said, but he’s starting to look excited, and I feel myself giving in before the fight even begins.

“So, you want to go for a spaghetti day?” He asks when I don’t respond.

I was sort of joking about the spa day. I didn’t seriously think that he would agree to it, but I won’t say no to going to dinner with him.

This could be what I’ve been looking for. The chance to see if there is even the slightest possibility of something happening between us.

So, I say yes to the spaghetti day, no matter how ridiculous it sounds.

***

Okay, so maybe taking Simon on a “spa” day was a bit of a mistake.

We decided on a really nice Italian restaurant to go to the day after our little study date where it’s basically a requirement to dress up in your nicest clothes, but I still half-expected Simon to show up in jeans and a t-shirt. Instead, he surprised me by showing up on my doorstep wearing dark grey dress pants and a dress shirt to match with a tie over it that’s a lighter shade of grey. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to just below his elbow, showing off his freckled arms, and he decided to forgo a jacket, but that’s all understandable considering the fact that it’s even warmer outside today than it was yesterday.

I never would have thought that Simon would look so good in grey. But boy, does he look good.

I practically began salivating when I opened the door to him, and it took some work to keep my eyes on his shining blue eyes.

I’m wearing my own dress suit in a lovely dark shade of green, and I slide on the jacket before grabbing my keys and meeting him back at the door. His gaze is appraising, and I try not to squirm under it, trying to ignore the way that his eyes linger in some places, trying not to get my hopes up too soon.

“Ready?” I ask, pulling his eyes back up to mine.

He nods, and we’re on our way.

Keeping both hands on the steering wheel as I drive is a struggle as I fight the urge to reach over to touch Simon. To hold his hand, to feel the warmth of his arm under his shirt, to push the hair out of his eyes.

I know he would not be too appreciative of me doing that, so I keep my hands to myself and my eyes on the road.

When we arrive at the restaurant, we are quickly led to a booth in the back. It’s dark back here, the light above our table bare illuminating the table and our menus as we look them over, but it gives us a sense of privacy.

As I look over the options, I can’t keep myself from glancing at Simon. He looks so nice, and I hate that this feels like a date when it obviously isn’t.

I wonder what we look like to the other customers. Do we look like a young couple on a date, or do we look like two friends who just needed to get out and go somewhere nice?

Can they see how much I long to touch him? Can they see the truth of the situation, or do I have them just as fooled as I have Simon?

“You don’t like tomatoes, right?” Simon asks suddenly.

I look up at him in surprised, a little disbelieving that he would know that.

He smiles and says, “I paid attention to you, you know.”

“I’m very aware of that,” I say, remembering all of those times he watched me, waiting for me to slip up and do something that would get me kicked out of the dorm so that he would no longer have to room with me. (Of course, I never did.) “I just thought you might have been paying attention to other things about me.”

He shrugs and is quiet for a moment before saying, “I was thinking that we could get a few different things and share.”

“Okay. It wouldn’t really be a spaghetti day without options.”

“Exactly. But maybe we could both choose one and then pick another one to share. That way you wouldn’t have to eat anything with tomatoes in it.”

“Sounds good,” I say, surprised again by how thoughtful he is being.

Simon ends up getting spaghetti and meatballs while I get chicken alfredo, and then we get a spinach artichoke pasta to share.

Watching him eat the bread while we wait for the various plates of pasta to arrive is what makes me think that this may have been a mistake.

He makes a big display with every bite of the over-buttered bread he takes, moaning as he chews and letting his eyes fall shut like it’s the best thing that he’s ever tasted.

It is affecting me in a way that is inappropriate for such a public space.

I force myself to focus on the condensation running down the side of my glass of water until our food arrives so that I don’t go absolutely mad with want.

The feeling doesn’t go away when our entrees arrive.

Simon is an atrocious eater, and yet, I still find myself wanting to reach across the table, wrap my hand around his tie, and then kiss him senseless.

Instead of doing that, though, I spin my fork in my hand and look down at my barely touched plate.

It would be brainless to do something like that, and it would end our friendship in less than a few seconds. Still, I sometimes think that it might be worth it.

I twirl some noodles around my fork and take a bite, chewing it thoughtfully before looking back up at him.

He has already finished his plate of spaghetti and moved onto the spinach artichoke.

For a brief moment, I imagine reaching over to that same plate and us ending up eating it Lady and the Tramp style. Surely an “accidental” kiss wouldn’t ruin our friendship…

I shake my head at myself and take another bite from my own plate.

It is a really good Alfredo, and if I were eating it by myself, I would probably have eaten at least half of it by now, but I try to be careful not to look like a pig when I’m eating in front of Simon, not wanting to make a fool of myself.

“You okay?” Simon asks after a moment, thankfully waiting until he has swallowed to speak. “You seem really quiet, pensive.

“I was just thinking.”

“What about?” He asks with an innocent curiosity.

I blush as the thought of our lips meeting over a strand of noodle reenters my mind.

In hindsight, that seems like a pretty gross way to kiss, with food trailed from one person’s mouth to another’s. It almost ruins my appetite, and I decide that I definitely don’t want our first kiss to be like that. If we were to even have one.

Simon is looking at me expectantly, so I decide to be partially honest with my answer and say, “Lady and the Tramp.”

“The movie?”

I nod.

“Cool.”

And just like that, he continues eating, none the wiser to my exact thoughts.

I finish my plate off and eat a few bites from the other plate, allowing Simon to eat as much as he wants.

When the bill arrives, I reach for it to pay seeing as I was the one who invited him out on this “spa” day, but Simon won’t let me, insisting that since he turned it into dinner that he should pay, confirming my suspicions.

He played dumb, intentionally turning this into us going out to dinner together. I just need to figure out why.

As we leave the restaurant and head towards my car, I realize that I don’t want this to end. I want to spend the rest of the night with Simon. Actually, I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but that will never happen, so I have to make the most of right now.

I stop walking and turn to him right before we reach my car.

“I have a question,” I tell him.

He tilts his head to the side and peers at me curiously. “Okay. Ask me.”

“Did you just not want to go on an actual spa day or was there another reason you wanted to go to dinner instead?”

“I just really like spaghetti,” he says simply, like it’s a reasonable answer. And I suppose it is. I just hadn’t considered that option.

“Oh,” I say, my heart sinking in my chest.

Of course. I should have thought of that. Food has always been his top priority.

I nod at him and start to turn away, reaching for my pocket to grab my keys.

“Baz,” he whispers a moment before his hand wraps around my wrist. “Wait.”

I slowly turn back to him to see what he wants, attempting to mask the disappointment I feel at his answer.

“Yes, Simon?” I reply, sounding far too formal.

“I’m sure a spa day would have been fun, b-but I thought this would be better,” he admits.

“Better than what?”

“A better first date.”

“You think this was a date?” I ask, my heart starting to race.

“I-I had hoped it was. I d-don’t know.” He drops my arm and looks at the ground nervously. “I guess I wanted it to be, and when you asked me to go on a spa day, it felt like a good opportunity to turn it into something more.”

My heart stutters at the words ‘something more.’ Maybe I wasn’t imagining this thing between us.

“But you never said anything about this being a date. How was I supposed to know if it was one?”

He tears a hand through his hair and looks back up at me with a sigh. “I don’t know. I wanted to ask you if it was, but I was so worried that you would say it wasn’t that I thought it would be better to just not say anything. At least then, you couldn’t reject me.”

He’s putting into words a lot of the things that I’ve been thinking.

When we spend time together, there is always this feeling stirring between us like something is happening, but I’ve been too afraid that I was wrong about it to say anything.

I smile at him and he frowns.

“Look, I’m sorry for just assuming. We can just forget about this whole thing.”

I shake my head at him. “Simon, Simon,” I say slowly, drawing the sound out. I love the way his name feels in my mouth. “I can’t just forget about this. I want to remember it.”

“Why? So, you can go tell all your friends that I made a fool of myself and thought you would actually like me?”

It hurts that he still thinks I would do something like that, even after we’ve become friends, but I probably deserve that. I’m still pretty closed off around him, so as to protect myself from getting hurt.

“I wouldn’t do that. You’re my friend now.”

“Right. We’re just friends.”

I sigh and close my eyes for a brief moment. That isn’t quite how I meant for that to come out.

“No. I mean, we were friends, but—.”

“But not now that you know how I feel about you?” He says, interrupting me.

“No, that’s not—.”

He shakes his head and turns away from me, but not before I can see the hurt in his eyes.

If he would just listen to me, he would know that I was trying to say that I don’t want us to be just friends. I want so much more than that.

I want tonight to have been a date, and I want so many more just like it.

But now, he’s starting to walk away from me, and I think that he intends to walk home rather than sit in a car with me.

I have to remedy this before it’s too late.

“Simon, wait.” It’s my turn to reach out for him.

I pull lightly on his arm, and he turns to me. He’s reluctant about it, but at least he doesn’t pull away.

I try to find the words to tell him how I feel, but my search comes up empty. How do I describe the way that I have felt about him for so long? How do I tell him that he is my whole world? Or that he’s the sun and my world revolves around him?

I don’t think I can. At least, not yet.

But I can do this: I can pull him close to me and press my lips to his.

I start out hesitant, still giving him the chance to pull away, but he presses back hungrily, tilting his head to the side and parting his lips around mine.

I let him take over the kiss, and he does this wonderful thing with his chin that has fireworks going off behind my eyelids.

I have to pull back far too soon to catch my breath, but I don’t go far, leaning my forehead against his.

“I don’t want to be just friends,” I say finally. “I want something more.”

He grins at me, and it’s almost as blinding as the sun. He’s beautiful.

“Okay,” he says with a nod, then he kisses me.

This time, the kiss quickly deepens, and I tangle one hand in his hair and fist the other around his tie as he gently leads me back until my back is up against my car.

Forget the way his name feels; his tongue feels much better in my mouth.

After a few minutes, Simon starts to pull away, probably because we’re still standing in the middle of a parking lot, but I pull him back to me.

I don’t want him to go. I never want to let him go.

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, MIMZ! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF RAPHAEL.

Admin Rosey: I never really thought that Raphael’s application would be so f u n to read. Macabre? Absolutely. Impassioned? Of course. But hilarious to the point where I was giggling? Definitely unexpected but that is what made this so enjoyable and it is ultimately why this application received a r e s o u n d i n g yes from each of us. There was a perspective that I always envisioned for Raphael but was never able to articulate it myself until you laid it out, word by word, with this application, Mimz. Raphael is such a multi-faceted and character that holds so much potential, and the way that you wove it into every aspect of the application made this so fun to read. Thank you so much for taking the time to produce such a wonderful application! Your faceclaim change to Kendrick Sampson has been approved. Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias 

mimz

Age

21

Personal Pronouns

she/her

Activity Level

i’ll typically check the dash every day, and i try not to keep replies stewing for longer than a couple of days! that said i can be a little slow, especially around exam seasons.

Timezone

pst

Triggers

REMOVED

How did you find the group?

miss minnie bleubeard’s blog

IN CHARACTER

Character

raphael, with a fc change to kendrick sampson

What drew you to this character? 

short answer: divine amorality sexy HAHAHAHA

long answer: there was something i read a little while ago about some of the best surgeons being able to dehumanize their patients to a rather frightening degree. there’s a level of abstraction that you need in order to not let your empathy get in the way of the practice of medicine; ultimately, a body is a body is a body, right? and then there’s the moral quandary of healing - it is a doctor’s duty to heal, but what does that actually mean? to what extent is a doctor’s duty to relieve suffering? to obstinately prolong life? if the body heals but the mind still ails, is a person healed? what i’m getting at, here, is that in some ways the healer is the most dangerous character of all. 

when i read raphael’s bio, there was a quote in that article from a surgeon named david cheever that came to mind: “as a result of anaesthetics, the surgeon ‘need not hurry; he need not sympathise; he need not worry; he can calmly dissect, as on a dead body.’” to me, raphael is an explosion and expansion of this concept. raphael is, quite literally, a medical ethicist’s worst nightmare, and to me, that’s absolutely fascinating. without sympathy, what separates a healer from an educated control freak with a god complex? with raphael, we can extend this concept to its furthest extreme. raphael isn’t even human - how could he even begin to sympathize with an experience so foreign to him? why would he worry about something trivial as human suffering when it essentially exists as a theoretical concept to him? divine beings have no reason to play by human rules, and as a creature raised by god’s side raphael was so far removed from the concept of human suffering that it’s sort of a no-brainer that he developed a sick fascination with it, like a child who managed to con their parent into buying a grand theft auto game and is obsessed with running over pedestrians because the stakes never quite feel real. it’s a perspective i’d absolutely love to explore in a group rp setting because the nature of rp means that it’s kind of...completely unsustainable? like as writers we’re shoving these characters together, which means that raphael will have to be exposed to mortals. there’s room for a lot of character development there, and it seems like something extremely interesting to explore.

BUT HERE’S THE THING⁠—and this is where the character gets really fun, in my opinion. i’ve talked a fair bit about god complexes already, but when applied to raphael an interesting question is raised: how much is a complex, and how much of it is actually being divine? what really made me want to get my grubby little hands on the reins of raphael’s story was seeing the disconnect between the way his connections are written from raphael’s perspective versus the other character’s perspective. it’s a fun little hubristic shade that makes him an unreliable narrator and infinitely more interesting than a simple morality thought experiment. i think it’s easy to see raphael as this super cool, all-powerful master manipulator (i think that’s a pretty accurate take on his self-image, in fact), but he’s not the only player in this game. for every pawn he’s trying to move, there is someone else trying to use him in a similar way, and i don’t know that he truly understands the ramifications of that. see, i think it’s easy to reduce raphael to the points i discuss in the previous paragraphs because that’s what he wants you to think of him. but this is a world of gods and superpowers and magical political intrigue and game of thrones doesn’t exist so nobody can tell him that he’s on the path to becoming a cersei lannister (admittedly i haven’t watched got so this reference might not be right but i feel like it’s right so uh. yeah!). maybe i just like to see arrogant men getting knocked down a peg? this might be a projection of that. i dunno. i just know that there are quite a few mind games and mental gymnastics to untangle with raphael and that’s fun. he’s fun.

also. i would like to once again reiterate: divine amorality sexy. it’s not good, to be clear, and i don’t condone it, but i’m just saying.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character?

WHEN  THE  CITY  CRUMBLES  AROUND  YOU  AND  YOU  HOLD  ITS VESTIGES  IN  YOUR  HANDS,  WHOM�� DO  YOU  BLAME?

i think Raphael’s big character arc revolves around a simple question: how far are you willing to go to achieve what you want? 

ostensibly, it’s an easy answer: very far. but when your desire is antithetical to your very purpose, when chasing it puts you at odds with the thing you’ve worked to build, do the goalposts move?

(the correct answer is that raphael did not build caelum. he simply destroyed god.)

let’s say, hypothetically, that raphael gets what he wants. the world is thrown into war and chaos and destruction, yadda yadda, raphael gets his blood and his suffering, great. he’s lived through this before (a couple times, actually), so you think he’d realize by now—eventually, the dust will settle. people will tire of suffering. and where will that leave raphael? how many times will you remake the world to watch it burn? can you ever be fulfilled chasing a temporary high? 

(the correct answer is no, but raphael is an immortal being. more importantly, he is a patient one. he will wait a million days for rome to be built, if only to witness the single day in which it will burn.)

i think raphael needs to reckon with these questions. i think he’s lived far too long with his mentality unquestioned and that has made him both insufferable and a major threat to society. this is a long and pretentious way to say that raphael honestly kind of needs a hobby whatever the thc-verse equivalent of therapy is, but i think any sort of positive character development is contingent upon a recontextualization of suffering and chaos and raphael’s masks.

of course, this isn’t to say that introspection will only lead to positive character development. perhaps a raphael who looks deeper into his psyche will come to understand that his desires outweigh his role; perhaps such thoughts will push raphael over the edge of propriety and into something more outwardly despicable. no matter what, though, i think that the direction of raphael’s character development will be largely shaped on how he decides to prioritize his⁠ roles and goals. 

FOR  WHOM  DO  THESE  HANDS  HEAL?

let’s discuss the archangels, shall we? despite it all, raphael genuinely loves his brothers. i would argue, even, that raphael believes that his scheming is in service to the other archangels; he’s not blind to the way complacency has softened the angels. at this point, the only true threat to the angels is themselves—if michael wants to to unlock a state of sanctifying grace, it will happen at the hand of one of his kin. 

i spoke earlier about raphael’s goals ultimately being futile. this is largely because they are diametrically opposed to michael and gabriel’s goals, and while raphael knows this intellectually, i don’t think he’s quite thought about what the long-term implications of that conflict entails. he’s so caught up in the conflict between michael and gabriel that he’s neglected to consider how he factors into the dynamic. could he be the common ground that brings michael and gabriel together? could he be the final straw that breaks them apart? he is excited for the fighting, the fallout; but has he stopped to consider what the long-reaching effects of such a rift may be?

raphael is breaking his family apart because he loves them. will that be enough, when he is sent to pick up the pieces? whose side will he fall on, if he is to pick a side at all? 

DID  PYGMALION  FALL  IN  LOVE  WITH  THE  BEAUTY  OF  HIS  CREATION,  OR  THE  BEAUTY  HE  CREATED?

i said this in the previous section but i’d like to reiterate it: i think a big reason raphael is Like That is because the stakes have never quite felt real to him. raphael’s a pot stirrer, but he’s not a creature of action. to this, i say give him real stakes. to be honest, i don’t know exactly what that entails, because i could see a number of ways in which tangible pressure manifests itself for raphael. perhaps his meddling with michael and gabriel steps too far, and his brothers  perhaps the angels become suspicious of his maneuvering, in which the spider is drawn into his own web of intrigue. maybe we apply positive pressure, where the ails of the world require a healer and raphael is tapped to higher purpose⁠—and higher power. maybe raphael will find himself tempted by the very demons he holds in contempt. 

the point is that raphael has largely been a character who acts through others. even now, we see this through his grooming of romilda, with his subtle manipulation of michael and gabriel. i want him to become a more active character, either by his own volition or by his hand being forced. 

similarly, i’m extremely interested in seeing how raphael navigates the political elements of this verse. i expect it stings a bit to be the only archangel not given a position of leadership; perhaps he holds lingering resentment toward zadkiel for being given a role raphael had expected to receive. does he subtly undermine zadkiel’s leadership? i want to watch him play up tensions with the vices, to hide a vicious war-hawk perspective under the guise of a concerned healer. i want him to smile in abaddon and samael’s faces and plot their suffering in his mind. i want to see the snake slither in the grass, to return to his original form as a spider spinning a web of intrigue across his court. yes, i want a more active raphael, but i think the political drama is ripe for development, as well.

WHEN  I  SPIT  UP  MY  SINS  AND  BEG  FOR  REPENTANCE,  WHAT  WILL COME  UP?

this one’s a long shot, but i could maybe...see...raphael……..falling. i can guarantee you that the idea has never even crossed raphael’s mind, and that he would literally rather be smited than be cast out of caelum, but i can see it. i think he might be happier, actually; if he fell, he could really lean into the chaos and suffering thing without any compunction.

of course, this is something infinitely easier said than done. were raphael to be cast out of caelum, he would have nowhere to go. infernum would never take him⁠—he’s made far too many enemies among their ranks. he could wander the holy land, but he’s far too proud to bind himself to its existing social systems. (he wouldn’t be able to look gabriel in the eye.)

raphael would have absolutely nothing. 

but he would also be free.

that’s right, i think that a horsemen-style liberation arc would be an absolute banger for raphael. again, i don’t think it’s feasible unless a very specific set of circumstances happen, but just imagine a raphael with nothing to lose, free to go absolutely apeshit. his only prerogative is to make sure you have a bad day. he is free to sow whatever chaos, whatever suffering he so wishes across the land. WHEW.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character?

yes, but i don’t see him going down easily.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation

entomological curiosity, in short. consider: why did god leave the apple in the garden of eden? why do humans keep animals in glass cases? why do children burn ants with magnifying glasses?

raphael wants to observe the world. a good healer must understand his patients at a fundamental level, and such truths are only revealed when the subject is broken down to its basest parts. you see, raphael was weaned on temperance and virtue; there is a lush decadence to emotional extremes that he finds most fascinating. they are debased. they are crass. they are wantonly sentimental, in a garishly beautiful way.

but this is not all. he wants to stave off boredom, and these are the tools he has to play with. for all of his machinations, raphael is a simple being. raphael has no grand ambitions, no lofty ideals, and that is what makes him so dangerous. he wants to be amused. he wants to be stimulated. he wants to observe a world in which things happen.

ostensibly, this is not as selfish a motivation as it may seem. as a healer, raphael knows something that many do not: serenity cannot exist in perpetuity. it is impossible for the world to remain unchanged⁠—even if the change is not evident, it is happening. an eternal peace is all but a stagnation of the kingdom; the only thing stagnation breeds is degradation. the angels are weakening because they are not being challenged. michael and the virtues may be doing extensive research to find an alternate explanation, but raphael knows this to be the truth. 

of course, the irony underlying the selfless explanation of raphael’s motivations reveals the truth of the matter: it is a farce. perhaps it is a lie that raphael has even convinced himself he believes, but it is farcical nonetheless. raphael claims he wants to invoke change because stagnation is dangerous, but riddle me this⁠—if this is true, why has raphael never changed? centuries upon centuries have passed, and the world has changed around him, but raphael himself has remained largely unchanged. he is the orchestrator of change, not its agent nor its subject, and that is just the way he would like things to stay.

Character Traits

CHARISMATIC - there’s a reason very few have cottoned on to raphael’s true nature, and it’s not (just) his pretty face and magical girl-esque aura. there’s something effortlessly captivating about raphael, a pace to his cadence that has you hanging on to his every word, a lightness to his smile that makes you want to coax it out whenever and however you can. everything about raphael puts people at ease, except for his eyes, which tend to put people on edge if he’s not careful. he’s not gregarious or the outgoing sort of charismatic by any means, but he does manage to exude an overwhelming charisma.

PATIENT - it’s important to remember that before raphael turned on god, he waited for him. raphael performed healings for centuries and never raised a hand against his father in that time. think of all the angels that fell, that rebelled; raphael was not among them. no, raphael played the dutiful son, allowing his resentment to fester and boil deep underneath his skin, but never to surface. for centuries he served loyally, biding his time. remember: lucifer fell. raphael did not. which one killed god? as i mentioned in the plot section, raphael will wait a million days for rome to be built to witness the single day it burns. prolonged suffering is perhaps the most beautiful of all. fortitude goes hand-and-hand with patience.

INTELLIGENT - in a few ways. raphael is well-studied, with extensive knowledge of biology and chemistry and history and politics. raphael is emotionally intelligent; he hides his true nature behind a veneer constructed to meet expectations. he may not be as talented as gabriel in this regard, but it is a skillful construction nonetheless.

MANIPULATIVE - i mean. yeah.

ARROGANT - he thinks he’s smarter than god???????????????? tbf god was a bit of a headass in this universe but we’ve all read enough tragedies to know where this kind of hubris ends up going.

CRUEL - there’s a bit to unpack here. i’d argue that there are two types of cruelty: malicious cruelty and callous cruelty. raphael is certainly capable of both, but i think he embodies the latter. with certain notable exceptions, raphael’s cruelty is rarely personal; it is a thoughtless sort of cruelty, the type inflicted upon beings considered expendable. raphael is selfish and petty and powerful, and these traits coalesce into a casual cruelty. 

In-Character Para Sample cw: light gore

Look at how they look at him. God’s good little lambs, lined up all in a row, passive and pliant and patiently awaiting benediction. Patiently waiting for Raphael. 

Raphael hates them.

No. This is false. It is difficult for Raphael to muster up stronger feelings toward mortals than a vague sort of amusement, the sort of affinity one might have for a particularly stupid kit when it does something surprisingly clever. In this regard, he understands that he differs from his kin. Gabriel, in particular, has developed a particular fondness for the mortals. Why anyone would wish to strip mortals of their most fascinating behavior⁠—to the point of openly defying their Father⁠—is beyond Raphael. He has given up on trying to reason with his brother on the matter. 

The first supplicant is beckoned forward. They pray to the Lord and Raphael touches their forehead with one palm, cups their chin with the other. His fingers splay carelessly around a throat all but bared to him and the ceremony is so mechanical Raphael allows his thoughts to wander⁠. 

How easy it would be to tighten his grip. How beautiful it would be, to watch the lamb’s naive adoration flash into fear, to watch fear darken into betrayal and resentment and the most beautiful emotion of all: despair. He can feel the pulse at his fingertips. It would quicken in a stress response, he knows. It would quicken, then it would pound, and then maybe it would stop.  It all falls to Raphael’s whim. In this moment, Raphael holds their life in his hands. They have all but laid on his sword for the promise of absolution and when they look up at Raphael with their dumb, trusting eyes he can see the sparkling tracks where tears once fell, down the hollow of a cheek into the pool of a collarbone. He finds himself overcome with the desire to trace the fall with his tongue. “Give me your pain,” he murmurs. Let me taste it. Let me understand. 

He takes it. He does not taste it. He does not understand.

He releases the mortal. Those beautiful tear tracks are already fading. “The Lord be with you,” he says, and perhaps he even means it. His Father’s gaze burns into his back, even from a world away. He’d laugh at the irony, were he free to. Is this the weight you so desire? he wants to ask the devotee. No, Raphael knows the truth: God’s love is a shackle. God’s love is a leash and it is holding Raphael back from his fullest potential.

“And also with you,” the lamb responds. Their head is bowed obediently in prayer and they shuffle away, appropriately awed. The next supplicant is beckoned forward.

The light of Raphael’s presence obfuscates the darkness in his eyes.

— 

Later, much later, Raphael finds himself studying his hands. He flexes them, balls them into fists, stretches his fingers as far as they will spread. 

How easy it would be to tighten his grip.

The hand is at once an individual unit and a summation of individual parts. The hand contains twenty-seven bones and thirty-four muscles connected by over a hundred ligaments and tendons. Wrists connect to metacarpals, which connect to carpals, which taper off into delicate phalanges. Individually, each of these parts are largely useless; were Raphael to take a scalpel and drag it through a tendon, across the joints, the strings would be cut and the puppetry would cease to dance. You would be left with a small pile of carpals and metacarpals and phalanges, loose strings of muscle and tendon. At times, it is difficult to fathom how such mundane component parts are the instruments of extraordinary acts.

Raphael flexes his hand, watches bone shift under skin. If he remembers correctly, mortals have an idiom about knowing your hands, or something along those lines. He will not pretend to be familiar with mortal culture. Did you know that, wings aside, mortals and angels all have the same bone structure? 

Of course you did. It is common knowledge that God made all beings in His image, or so the story goes. 

This is an easy answer, but one with interesting implications. Let us extrapolate. If mortals and angels are essentially biological mirrors, and each are made in the image of God, does that mean that God will bleed like His creations? Slide a scalpel across God’s knuckles—will His puppets cease to dance?

Raphael could find out. It would take only a single blade, sliced through a single tendon. 

Now, Raphael is not so arrogant to believe himself the blade. He would not even consider himself the hand. Such a role requires a particular kind of conviction—

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in bitter disillusionment⁠—the sort inflicted upon Michael. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s capriciousness and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in righteous anger⁠—the sort inflicted upon Gabriel. How easy it would be to find himself in his brother’s ear, whispering of their Father’s neglect and the unnecessary cruelty that resulted for the poor, poor humans— )

( —and that sort of conviction is made manifest in a whetted hunger⁠—the sort God gifted to each of His angels. Hunger breeds hunters and heaven is full— )

—that Raphael simply cannot embody. Rage has never been his forte. 

Consider, however, that the hand is controlled by nerve impulses. A spark is all the hand needs to transform from a collection of bone to an agent of action. Yes. He clenches his fists. Here are the bones, the veins, the tendons, the muscle. Angels and mortals all share the same bone structure.

Does God?

Extras

pinterest.

raphael has classically beautiful wings. i’m talking TEXTBOOK cherubic angel wings, with the sweeping white feathers and all. raphael kind of hates them, though he takes a great deal of pride in them.

raphael doesn’t have a signature weapon. he’s proficient with blades, yes, and fights with a surgeon’s precision, not the strongest nor the fastest but eerily efficient in his blows. but he is a healer—at the end of the day, his empty hands are all he needs. (his empty hands are what you should fear.)

raphael hates the heretics pro forma but. but. he cannot deny a certain...fondness for them. the heretics exhibited such dedication to a futile cause; they believed their suffering to be something noble. it’s a laughable notion, certainly, but a sentiment so distinctly human it’s almost charming. should they wish to return, to throw themselves on the knife over and over and over, well. raphael shall not complain. he shall smile beatifically, perhaps abate their suffering, even⁠—and watch them do it again. 

in a modern au, raphael is a reality tv producer. ok actually he’s probably a surgeon but i think he’d make a very good reality tv producer. alternately, there is a universe out there where raph fixated on like...baking, or k-pop, instead of suffering. those are good timelines, i think. maybe not the k-pop stan timeline.

raphael is the living embodiment of that dwight schrute “we need a new plague” meme.

[szopenhauer]

What was your last dream about? pamiętam tylko tyle, że M. powinna uważać na jej byłego

Would you like to build/design your own house? yes

Do you have a cherished childhood teddy bear? it’s not really a teddy but yeah

Are you psychic in any way? it seems

Are you a good dancer? meh

Are you a good singer? nooo

Are you a good cook? not the worst

Are you a good artist? maybe

Are you a good listener? try to be 

Are you a good public speaker? but don’t like to 

Are you a good babysitter? might be but hate that

Are you a good dresser? have my own style

Are you a good comedian? I’m funny :P

Are you a good cleaner? not good enough

Are you a good actor? I am

Are you a good writer? just like to write

Do you ever get chills & goosebumps when you listen to music? tell me about it...

What was the last song that had that effect on you? not sure which was last

Do you know what any of your siblings did over the weekend? I don’t care

Was the last book you read a hardback or paperback? paperback

What was the last thing you required the use of a spoon for? I was eating breakfast

The last time you ate something, was it in a bowl or on a plate? neither XD

Can you recall the last time you held hands with someone? I can

What was the last thing that made your heart melt? hmm...

Can you recall the last time you visited a bookshop? not the exact day but yep

Did you purchase anything? I don’t think so

Have you been wearing homemade masks or store-bought ones? both

Do you call yourself stupid a lot? sometimes

Are you listening to music right now? not rn

What is your newest favorite website? aliexpress?

Do you have a headache right now? had before today

What month is your birthday, and what month would u change it to if you could?  February and would like June, July or August that’s why I will spend my name day during summer instead of spring with my sister

Have you ever had to use an epi pen? not yet

Do you know the names of 3 of your neighbors? (list if you can): personal

What was the last grocery store you shopped at?

Do memories from your past come back to haunt you ? frequently

Have you ever seen an angel? or a ghost

Have you ever seen a demon? that time in a mirror?...

What color was the last sweatshirt you wore? grey

What was the last act of creativity you displayed? Vinnie’s tiny bird next to her signature?

Do you ever find yourself just writing/typing out your feelings? my tumblr is full of this shit

Whose house were you at last, besides your own? my current partner’s

Do you like your teeth? not really

Does piano music tend to calm you down? wouldn’t say so

What’s something you need to get done soon? ugh...

Is your best friend awake right now? they are

If I came to your house, could I find any kind of chocolate? ask my mother

Who was the last person to upload a picture with you in it? M.

Do you ever wear sleep masks when you sleep or shower caps when you shower? neither

Don’t tell me lies, so where’s your man? where’s Nat? XD

Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex? dad

Has anyone said they love you in the last week? yasss

Have you ever kissed under water? hell no

Have you kissed anyone whose name starts with a M? hahaha

Would you kiss the last person who texted you, on the lips? done and I hopefully will

Camping with a ton of friends or hotel with a few friends? hotel 

Could you go the rest of your life without a cigarette? absolutely

Have you ever wanted something you couldn’t have? like health

How is your boyfriend/girlfriend doing and where are they now? she’s angry, has a flu and she’s working

What was the last topic you read about? DID?

Do you prefer Windows or Mac? Windows

What’s the best amusement park ride you’ve ever been on? I’m not a fan of rides tbh

Would you know how to read a house blueprint? partially?

Do you keep notes on your phone? What sort of things do you write? used to on my old cell

Do you remember much from high school? tought so

Has anyone ever come out to you? yup

What was the last album you listened to in full? Red army choir or Anastasis?

Do you have Disney+? we don’t

Have you ever sent a package or letter to a foreign country? postcards

How many jobs do you have on your resume? 0

Are you comfortable with leaving the house without any makeup on?: I don’t wear makeup

Do you have any expensive hobbies?: if I had money...

What length do you like to keep your nails at?: short

Have you ever felt physical pain in a dream?: but not as much as Nat 

Have you ever had Christmas carolers come to your house and sing for you?: when I was a kid

What’s your favorite Studio Ghibli film?: Porco Rosso?

What did you learn from your last failed relationship?: can we not talk about it...

What’s something on your to-do list that never actually gets done?: I’m a huge procrastinator

Have you ever been really passionate about something but then lost interest? If so, what was it?: collages

What’s the worst thing about being male/female (whichever you are)?: period, being able to get pregnant and have female kinds of cancer etc.

What movie has the best special effects?: I’m into practical special effects more than cgi but... there’s too many to name

When did you last have a vision test?: ages ago 

[streamworthytv]

Pictured: My Venmo address (@StreamworthyTV, for any donations to keep the channel going), as well as some pics of me, both after and before before I got ill with physical disabilities (Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, MCAS, POTS/dysautonomia) & psych issues (like depression, anxiety, & agoraphobia, after I was pushed from my job...shortly after I first showed up in my chair - despite having the highest performance rating possible).

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#StreamworthyTV is meant to be a free, quick resource, for all major streaming platforms. We cover #Netflix, #Hulu, #PrimeVideo, #DisneyPlus, & even #AppleTV. (Other platforms, like #Starz, & #HBO, may also be added, based on demand!)

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Once I showed up to my last job in my chair, despite having a pristine record, and the highest rating possible - I was soon pushed out, via refusal to grant me #accessibility (after previously enduring #bullying & #discrimination for years, once it was known that I had health issues).

Because of the #trauma that I faced in how I was treated by my job, I was soon caught in a deep #depression, facing #anxiety, panic attacks, & #agoraphobia. These issues worsened my physical conditions, causing many flareups. My job found a way to make me lose 6/8 months of free insurance coverage I was to get from my union, after I tried to file a lawsuit. My health, not surprisingly, further spiraled out of control. I was too ill too work, and was in fact #bedbound for over 2 full years.

In working towards “making a comeback at life” I wanted to find - or CREATE - a job that fit within the parameters of what I could still do...watch TV, research things online, be a wiz at organization, make great art, & write well (all channel art & write-ups, unless stated otherwise, are my own!). Also, I have a hell of a sense of humor, that I can’t WAIT to share on #YouTube!! I have materials ready to set up, & several treatments (scripts) nearly or partially finished.

Plus, I love to help people, and to make things easier for them. I’m a proud #Aspie, & I know that this channel will be the most efficient way of finding all you need, about ALL THINGS STREAMING!! I just need a bit more time to finish setting up some templates and get into a groove, and after that, I’ll always have you on the cutting edge!

I’m eventually hoping that this is a success, that I can maybe even get a Patreon for!! But until then, you can decide if you’d like to help me continue to release content - which will ALWAYS be free - on my new Venmo account, @StreamworthyTV. This channel is a lot more work than some may realize, and all money donated will go towards things like my #healthinsurance, my #medications, durable medical equipment (like the upkeep of my powerchair), & towards funding professional training lessons for my #servicedogintraining, @TheWorkingWigglebutt.

Mikka has been owner-trained for the most part, to this point...& has an amazing sense of smell, with many natural alerting/medical response instincts. However, my agoraphobia & other health issues, as well as costs of training being too high, contributed to her not getting enough socialization. She already does several tasks for me at home, but could really use the training to learn more, & also to learn how to behave as a proper SD in public, so that she doesn’t need to remain as only an “at home” service dog. (I may post a video of her doing a fantastic medical response revival for me, when I’d only had her 4 months - in the future.) Mikka definitely has service dog potential, & at not quite 16 months, she still has time to make the changes that I need from her, in order for her to help me in public (and perhaps to make me feel safe enough to break me of my agoraphobia!)

In any case, thanks so much to anyone that has taken the time to read!! I look forward to helping you find what to watch, whether you can contribute financially, or just with like, follows, comments, & shares!! (And don’t worry, I won’t repeatedly bother you for 💰!) As always, happy streaming!!

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YouTube is coming as soon as I finish filming some clips!!!

#StreamworthyTV #streamworthy #whattowatch #disabledblogger

[fraudulence-paradox]

5/25/16

        I had a dream about her last night. One I’ve had before actually. For some reason I’m in K----y’s house and her mom tells me she’ll be right out. Her voice is normal, but somehow I can tell something is wrong. I’m just never sure what. The backdrop is all wrong too. I know I’m in her house, but something is wrong. The whole scene makes me uneasy. It may be the impossible geometry of how we’re standing on muddy dirt, even though I’m sure this is her living room, it may be how K----y always just appears, like the birthing of an orc, out of the shadows, likely from the mud, but this is where the dream always goes awry. I remember a text I received from her a few years back (in real life) where she told me that she’d gained some weight and didn’t want me to see her (I don’t really believe this—and even if it were true, I don’t think it would matter to me—but it stuck in my head somehow), but lo and behold, here she is in the dream. I think this is my subconscious’s way of making it okay that I’ll likely never see her again, because when I do in my dream she’s always hideous. In the particular dream I had last night, she is tall, and pear shaped. Shirtless, for some reason, but where there were well-proportioned breasts, there are scars, and clumps of cellulose. Her entire torso looks like a chewed up pile of pale gum. There are scars covering her. Stretch marks, and what appears to be evidence of a mastectomy. This monstrosity, perched on top of two proportionate, yet asymmetrical legs, which appear to be made of only cottage cheese, and opaque flesh-toned trash bags, as if someone filled two empty bread containers with different amounts of milk, and let them sit in the sun for days, until they finally became rancid enough to solidify and support the weight of the monstrous torso. Yet on top of this mess is her face, normal; untouched.

           At this point in the dream I still want what I presumably came to her house for. I want to have sex with her. With it. It disturbs me, but I wouldn’t say I have no idea why my brain makes this. I think it has something to do with our incredibly bizarre, wonderful, and first relationship.

           K----y was my first real girlfriend, after the whole Kr---- fiasco, it was nice to find a girl who wasn’t as manipulative, and seemed to really care about me. I was her first boyfriend too, which meant neither of us knew what to expect. K----y was my first everything. First kiss, first fuck, first hand holding. Our first kiss was in a movie theater, where we went to see The Lorax, our first date. I was 15, she was 14, so neither of us could drive. I remember her father picking us up, D--- I think his name was. He was a really cool guy. I don’t know if the stories he would tell while we were driving were true, or meant to impress or intimidate me. But they worked. Quite honestly, I would be absolutely fine with becoming like him. He seems to have done everything in the world. He has a job doing something secret for the government, I’m not sure what. His cover is that he’s a psychologist for the military, but I think it has something to to with government torture techniques. K----y told me once that for a year, while he was stationed in “Florida”, he kept telling her and her family about these cool lizards he kept seeing. K----y later learned that these lizards were only native to [redacted]. He was likely speaking in some sort of code to let his wife know where he was without officially breaking his clearance. K----y also told me once, that she had a distinct memory of being at the natural history museum with him around 2008, looking at dinosaur bones, when he received a call. It’s nature was regarding [redacted] being declassified, and how he and a lot of others may be in the public eye for something in them. I’m not sure if the papers were ever made public, but I put the pieces together.

           D---- R-- played piano, but only knew how to improvise, played Anne Frank’s father in his high school show, and told me that’s when he learned how to cry on command. He took K----y and me to the spy museum a few times, and told us how to best memorize your lore. He inexplicably knew Morse-code and several other ciphers by heart, and there was a lot about his life even K----y wasn’t allowed to know about. When he was young, he was heavily involved in a “ministry” that required him to cross the Mexican-American boarder several times a month to do god knows what just south of California. He also told me once that he was one of very few people in the world who knew the exact whereabouts of [redacted]. He was a sketchy dude, but in all the right ways. Basically, he’s what I hope to use my CYSE degree to become.

           But he picked us up that day, and drove us to the theater. It was my first time ever talking to him, so he didn’t try to impress me too hard. I guess he used his psych skills to deduce that the first time meeting your girlfriend’s father is intimidating enough without bragging about how dangerous and well connected you are. We got to the theater, and K----y and I took our seats. I have no memory of the movie whatsoever. Likely because I was so concerned with how sweaty my hand was, and how it was locked in hers, so I couldn’t wipe it off. Coincidentally, this was the same movie theater that several months in the future, K----y would give me two blow jobs in during a showing of Frankenweenie, but that day, I was worried about holding her hand. When the credits rolled, I knew it was time. I asked her if I could kiss her, because chicks dig consent, and she said yes. Then, we didn't kiss. We both looked at each other awkwardly, waiting for the other one to make their move, and neither of us did. We were 5 rows ahead of where future K----y would have my penis in her mouth, and we were worried about kissing before the lights turned on. K----y said, “what do we do?”, so I hit her with the suavest line I could come up with. “Well, let’s make like Nike, and.. just do it” and we kissed.

           The second our lips touched, I got a feeling a lot like how people describe meth. A huge dopamine rush that even now I look back on with envy. If kissing is a drug, it has the fastest tolerance of any of them. I’ve never felt such a rush in my entire life as I did the day I quoted a shoe company at my ex, and pushed my mouth onto her. This was really the beginning of a long string of lust filled relationships, where I chased the dragon that was that dopamine rush. I used to think about that kiss just to pass time. When I used to mow lawns with J---, sometimes in the gasoline scented afternoons I would forget about how big a hill was because I was so caught up in replaying that memory. I don’t know that I’ve ever had a physically intimate experience with anyone in the world that was quite like that moment. But I came close, and that was when I took her virginity.

           This was really the beginning of the end of our relationship, but I didn’t know that yet. From the first time she gave me a blowjob, or I fingered her we lost focus in any romance, and just chased sexual pleasure, but it what we had seemed fixable. But as soon as we started having sex, that was all we did. Really it was my fault. I kind of fucked up everything in that relationship, and I often wonder what things would be like if we never broke up, if we met at a time when I wasn’t so focused on fucking.

(Note from the future)

I don’t think I have that many regrets in my life, but if I have any, one of them is breaking up with her. It’s been almost 7 years and I still think about her at least a few times a month. Currently I’m even in a really good relationship with someone else, but I always wonder, “what if?”. I mean, there must be a reason things didn’t work out. And as the dream sequence from this entry, and future entries that will be posted will undoubtably note, the K----y I remember isn’t the one that exists any more. In my mind, she’s still the same person she was when we were dating… 7 years ago. But I know that isn’t her now. I’m not the same person I used to be, why should she be?

It’s more of a bizarre, chase for something that doesn’t exist anymore. When we first dated, we were both weird outcasts. Her, a quiet girl, sitting by pure chance, at my table in 9th grade history. Me, a weird, bombastic, eccentric nerdy guy. These days, I know almost nothing about her. I know she at one point worked at a grocery store near where I live, and I sometimes go there with the creepy, stalker, self-loathing hope that I’ll get a glance at her, but I’m not sure she even lives here anymore. The last thing I heard from her was that she was with someone she really loved; the way she talked about him made it seem like they would be married. Frankly, I hope that’s what happened. It’s what she deserves. But some horrible, degenerate part of my mind wishes that one day, I would wake up, back in 11th grade, and everything would go back to how it was. I was happy then. I was dating a girl whom no other has ever compared to, I had several close friends. I was depressed as all hell, sure, but at least then I was doing interesting things. I was in a few bands, I was at the absolute peak of my “making interesting art” phase, I even made short films all the time, and had aspirations about becoming a professional film maker. I was happy and naïve.

These days, I’m on what I consider the path to maximal happiness. I’m a Ph.D. student at a just okay university for my field, I just submitted a paper, and feel like I’m learning things at a depth I didn’t even know was possible, but something is missing. What K----y represents to me now isn’t what she is, it’s what I used to have. K----y isn’t just a girl I used to date. She isn’t a person whom I used to love, and a person whom I gave a piece of myself that I can never have back. She’s a symbol. And I know that’s completely unfair if she ever actually read this—no one wants to be someone else’s metaphor. I’d be fucking pissed if I was (well, I don’t know, maybe I’d be a little flattered that I lived in someone’s head rent-free, as they say). To me she’s a symbol of that happy, carefree time that was late high school. I was old enough to drive, but young enough not to have any real responsibilities. Maybe part of growing up is just accepting that your happiness peaked at a certain point, and there’s nothing you can do about that.

All of this is to say, it’s easier for me to personify the whole “spent youth” thing in someone I used to date—used to love—then it is to just accept it as it is. Many of the things I associate with her, I wasn’t even dating her for.  But loving her was just the most emotionally significant thing that occurred for me in high school, so it’s just what happened. I really do hope she’s happy.

When we broke up, I sent her a lengthy text message on my old keyboard-having phone. I wish I still had it, because I think it’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever communicated to another human being (wow, pretentious much, [fraudulence-paradox]?). But the gist of it is something like:

 The whole universe started with the big bang

And there’s this theory that it will all end with a big crunch.

Time will reverse, and everything will go backward and everything you and I have ever done will repeat in reverse.

But then, it will get to the beginning, and the universe will start again.

So at some point, you and I will be back together, back in those first days when everything was beautiful

And even though everything happens again, and we just have to relive everything

I don’t think I would change a single thing

[czarbok]

rant with a huge tw// ed

i never thought that i would be the one to develop an eating disorder, especially at the current age i’m at. when i was 8, i kinda suffered from an anxiety-induced food aversion which would make me not eat in fear of choking/throwing up. because of this, i was underweight for a good chunk of time. from about third grade until 8th grade, i was very scrawny; my friends mom would constantly say i had toothpick legs and my grandma would call me a skinny minnie lmao.

i had a huge appetite and a metabolism that was even faster through these years. i had shaken off my food aversion by fifth grade but never managed to gain an excess amount of weight. i didn’t hit 100 pounds until seventh grade and it was partially because i was going through puberty and growing. i still got my period on time because i was eating frequently. i ate a lot of junk food and huge servings of meals but never seemed to gain weight. people envied me.

by ninth grade, i was still really skinny. a-cups for my bra, toothpick legs, ankles that i could almost wrap my fingers around, the whole bit. i was getting into more muscle-building sports at this time. in jr. high, i ran track and cross-country but i gave both of them up for softball and soccer respectively. as much as i liked to think i was gaining muscle, i still looked like a stick. i looked awkward and stringy in all of my uniforms. the best way to describe how i looked is a praying mantis.

in ninth grade, i had also gotten my first boyfriend. he was a year older than me and he was more experienced than me. he was on the wrestling team so he frequently had to cut weight and cutting weight meant skipping meals and binging and purging. dinners at his house were awkward because i would be eating a huge plate of food and he would eat nothing. because he was lactose intolerant, he would eat large portions of ice cream and dairy products just to shit out the weight. he wasn’t that much heavier than me which i felt like it bothered him because that’s just the type of person he was. i never weighed myself at this time because the scale was always kept in my parents’ room and it was never right. i only got weighed at my yearly physicals.

the following summer, my boyfriend had broken up with me and i was devastated. i would lock myself in my room and only come out for basketball or soccer. i also ate less because my forming depression made it hard for me to get an appetite. i don’t know if i lost any weight, because again, i wasn’t weighing myself. i tried to get more involved with soccer, constantly practicing and honing my skills as a goalkeeper. i was also honing my skills in basketball summer league because i wanted to be on varsity in the coming year.

i had petty feuds with my first ex-boyfriend that whole summer and into my sophomore year of high schools but by the time school came back in, we seemed to become “friends”. at this time, i had also met my second boyfriend through mutual loves of music and soccer. he was overweight but i didn’t care. i really liked who he was as a person. he made me laugh and made me feel better about my breakup. he acted like a therapist and a best friend to me. but we didn’t start officially dating until february of our sophomore year.

before that, we were really close friends. we made fun of a boy i dated for a month and my first ex-boyfriend. we hung out a lot at his house and he made me feel like my world was getting put back together. i had won second team all-conference in soccer as sophomore, one of the first to do so, and i was excelling in basketball making a promising effort to be on varsity.

then i went to the doctor for on-going foot pains. my doctor told me that my foot had been broken for three years because of a basketball injury. the bone and joint had decayed and rotted and i needed to do something about it if i wanted to continue to play sports. i obliged because i wanted the attention that my foot injury would bring me, especially for my ex-boyfriend. so november 2015, i had surgery on my foot. i had an artificial joint put in my foot at the age of 15 and my doctor promised that i wouldn’t have to worry about it for 15 years if i followed through with physical therapy.

i got out of the hospital the same night and went home with all sorts of drugs including vicodin, antibiotics, and anti-imflamatories. drew, my friend and second boyfriend, was always a text away to keep my spirits up. i was out of basketball for a month and a half and lost my varsity jersey because there was no point in me having it. that wrecked me and it wrecked me even more that i couldn’t play with my best friends. i sunk into a depression that made me question if i even wanted to return from sports.

my weight wasn’t a concern to me because i never worried about it. i went through countless hours of pt in the early mornings before school so that i could get back on the court quicker. it was painful and constantly made me tired because my endurance and energy had diminished since i was put out. but i still didn’t notice my weight.

i returned to basketball in late december, winded and hesitant. i galloped when i ran in fear of destroying my new joint but i looked more fluid and confident than i ever had before. drew and i were increasingly becoming closer but i was increasingly becoming more and more suicidal.

january 1, 2016, my dad’s best friends and a very close friend to my family suddenly died in his sleep. we had actually been at his house for new years that night and now he was dead. it shook my family to the core. it brought out a side of my father that i had never seen before. he came into my room crying and hugged me, saying that he didn’t know what he was going to do without him. i was heartbroken and sunk into an even deeper depression. we spent a lot of time at his house, helping his now widowed wife and sons— two were adults, one was a senior in high school, the other in 8th grade and best friends with my sister. the calling hours rocked me as some of his favorite music blasted through his alma mater. one of them had been rose tattoo by the dropkick murphys, one of my favorite songs at the time. i still can’t listen to it. another song was the devil in i by slipknot which played frequently on my family’s favorite radio station; if it came on, the station would immediately be switched.

again, drew helped me cope and we were getting more intimate. we still joked about our exes and had fun but we were becoming closer than friends. by late january, i contracted mono for the first time and lost my appetite for over a week. i probably lost a lot of weight, but again, it wasn’t a concern.

i had also been trying to get my drivers license through february, taking the required classes and trying to schedule in-cars. ohio is a bitch state to get your license in. by february, drew and i were official and he urged me to get my license so i could take him places. i frequently broke down because i was so overwhelmed with recovering from an injury, recovering from mono, now softball, and school. drew urged me to see a therapist because i had frequent suicidal thoughts that worried him.

it wasn’t until may of 2016 that i received my diagnosis of depression. i was put on a low dose of serafem and put on suicide watch for that week because my mental health was so bad. my relationship was drew was getting rocky; i was starting to distrust him and he seemed to want to do everything without me. i finally finished the in-class session of my drivers test and passed but i still had to do in-cars before i could take my test.

that same month, my mom forced me to go to the obgyn to get on birth control because she thought i was sexually active with drew. (technically we weren’t). i had heard rumors that birth control caused weight gain but i wasn’t concerned, i got on it anyways. i was very strict with the time that i took it for about a year before not caring. i still take it every night, just not at the same time lmao. i didn’t realize it, but i started gaining weight.

drew broke up with me in mid-july of 2016 and i wanted to kill myself. and i tried. taking the vicodin i had from my foot surgery, i tried to od but only woke up from it in the middle of the night, devastated that i was still alive. but then i thought, who would take care of kojack, my cat, if i died? he would most certainly be kicked out of my house for his poor use of the litterbox. so i held off trying again. i finally got my drivers license and it stated that my weight was 125 lbs.

i went to my psychiatrist once a month where i rarely received an up in my antidepressants. i was only on 20 mgs of prozac for two years and i struggled heavily. my psych constantly treated me like a child and never really helped me with anything. so i stopped going but my prescriptions continued.

it was probably a mix between the prozac and birth control that made me gain weight. i ballooned to 135 my junior year of high school but i was still active in sports yearround. in november of my junior year, i started dating a close friend who was also a wrestler. we were also sexually exclusive. this boyfriend didn’t have to cut weight nearly as much as my first boyfriend but he didn’t eat. i began to gain muscle and was making a name for myself in athletics, winning all conference recognition in all three sports.

my paternal grandmother ended up passing away from what i think is medical malpractice in november of 2016. i was very close to her. she was my sisters and i’s babysitter growing up and she was always at our sporting events. we had been in buffalo, new york with my mom’s family when we heard the news that she was dying. early in the morning, my mom rushed us back home to ohio, worried that she would die before we got there. we had gotten there in two hours, a record if i had ever seen and she died shortly after we got there. i never went into the room. i saw my mom hold her hand as she took her last breath and my grandpa pacing and crying as she departed. i was shaken. but then i wasn’t. she didn’t die, i was sure of it. i never accepted that she had died becuase she was so prominent in my life. i made jokes about her passing but it never seemed like she died.

the boyfriend ended up breaking up with me after a wrestling meet after ignoring me all day. i was heartbroken but got over myself quicker than the other breakups. there was nothing between us but sex. at this time, i was starting to realize that my first boyfriend raped me, but i don’t want to get into that.

the summer of 2017 was a whirlwind. i was going around, trying to find someone to fill my sexual needs by disguising it and saying i wanted a boyfriend. i was in the best shape of my life. i was healthy and muscular. i ended up fucking one of my best friends and ruining our friendship right before my senior year started but i wasn’t too bothered by it.

in early september of 2017, i began talking to someone. i had actually met this guy at a cage the elephant concert with drew when he was dating someone else. i honestly thought he was weird and looked way older than he was. he also frequently told me that he loved me despite not really knowing me. either way i was freaked out but decided to give this guy a chance because of mutual interests. we started dating in late september of 2017 and i had never been happier. we’re still dating to this day and we’re currently living together.

donovan and i ate out frequently our first year of dating. i was taking my antideppressants on and off. i went from 130 lbs to 135 that year because we ate greasy foods, ate out a lot, ate a lot of junk food, and drank a lot of pop. i was ignorant to my weight gain but noticed it a bit once my last season of softball rolled around. i had committed to my college for soccer but wanted to play softball still because i loved it and was good at it. my uniform pants felt tighter.

it didn’t look like i had gained weight under clothes. i still fit in jeans i wore through freshman year but my stomach had definitely gained mass. i noticed this when we took a trip to the beach in late may and donovan took pictures of me. but i wasn’t bothered.

over the summer of 2018, i managed to take that mass off my stomach with soccer workouts to prep me for my upcoming collegiate soccer season. i also got my first job as a hostess which left me hungry because i couldn’t eat on the job. however, this led to binging after work and workouts but i still looked trim.

august came and i moved into college. i was destraught moving away from my friends and family despite being only 20 mins from my hometown. the girls on the soccer team were less than welcoming to me and preseason was hell. i was placed on the reserves because my coach told me freshman year would be a developmental year to get me out of bad habits. i accepted. afterall, he did have an all-conference goalie starting. i worked hard despite not wanting to be there. i lost interest in soccer and started eating more again. my teammates constantly talked about me behind my back and i didn’t feel safe. i also contracted mono for a third time which sat me out of soccer for nearly two weeks. i came back winded and exhausted. even though i was sick, i still went to every home game and practice to support. i played in one last game before my foot joint gave out on me again. i was put in a boot and lost the rest of the season.

i had been in a boot before because of my foot joint since the surgery but something about this was different. anyways, i went up to my coach after the season had ended and announced that i would not be continuing on the soccer team for various reasons including my mental health. he tried to convince me otherwise but i quit. i ended up meeting with the lacrosse coach and joining that team instead. lacrosse seemed fun and it would be a challenge for me to pick up a sport i never played.

but i was gaining weight. the scale never showed but again, my stomach became prominent and chubbier because i was eating. in december, i went to a different nurse practicioner to get on meds again. the np would end up changing my meds every month and i would be put on four different antidepressants before my sophmore year of college.

between soccer and lacrosse, i began lifting more and running less. i wasn’t concerned with my endurance because it always seemed to be with me despite sickness and injuries. i put on muscle in my legs and arms and my stomach managed to slim down again before lacrosse started. by the time my freshman season of lacrosse started, i could cradle and pass decently for someone who had never played before but i couldn’t catch so my coach put me on defense to avoid me having to catch a pass.

once lacrosse ended in late april, i didn’t want to put on any weight so i began running. i started running a mile everyday through the summer which turned into a mile and a half everyday to two miles. i ran two miles almost everyday over the summer to keep in shape. i was also switching and adding meds and going to therapy as well. by the time my sophomore year of college rolled around, i was on klonopin, abilify, cymbalta, and strattera/vyvanse.

i maintained 135 lbs throughout these couple of years despite med changes and birth control. my sophomore year of lacrosse was going to be my breakout year because i had spent so much time improving my skills. sophomore year started out great. fallball was fantastic. i had taken leaps and bounds in improvement since april. i love lacrosse and wanted to be better than i was the day before.

in late october, i went to sleep with a stomachache that i dismissed as gas pains. i woke up frequently in pain and just thought i had to poop. going to the bathroom did not alleviate the pain. the pain had also shifted to the right side of my stomach. so i did some googling and saw that my symptoms mirrored a burst appendix. so i woke up donovan and we drove to the hospital at 3 am. through testing and scans, the doctors told me my appendix was imflamed and would need to be taken out before it burst. so later that afternoon, i received my second surgery.

after the surgery, i was extremely bloated from the air they had to pump into my stomach for the procedure. i was sure it was going to go away with walking and other techniques to get it out. it never did. i started lifting with the lacrosse team a week and a half later and followed up with my surgeon two weeks after the surgery. he weighed me and i weighed a whopping 140 lbs. i was shocked but brushed it off as i had all my clothes on and a jacket.

then i got home and weighed myself. 140. it couldn’t be. i had never weighed that much in my entire life. how did one surgery cause me to gain five pounds? i became obsessive over my weight going into november. i started working out five days a week instead of three but my weight never changed. going into december i started eating less but my weight fluctuated between 140 and 137 frequently. i ran more disntance and put more effort into lifting. i was constantly breaking down into tears because i just wanted to be skinny again. donovan tried to assure me that i was still skinny and looked great but i knew i didn’t. i looked gross and pudgy.

i started wearing baggier clothes and set up times where i would stop eating. 9 pm seemed like a realistic time to cut off eating so i did that. around christmastime, i contracted mono again and lost my appetite. because of this, i lost five pounds. i was estatic. finally, after two months of fretting about being 140, i was back at 135lbs. but then i was at 133lbs, then 132lbs before i realized that i hadn’t been this low in weight since high school.

so i started schedule eating once this semester rolled around. tiktok was giving me ideas to restrict calories and to fast and other borderline eating disorder ideas. i complied. i eat at noon, again at dinnertime which has to be later than 6pm, and then a snack before 9pm. by january, i was under 130lbs, which i hadn’t seen since sophomore year of high school. i was so happy and proud of myself. with running everyday and restricting the times that i ate, i had lost ten pounds in two months,

lacrosse came in late january and we weren’t doing as much conditioning as we had the previous year. i was worried that this would make me gain weight so i ran before practices some days and after practices on others. my weight dropped again to 125lbs, my goal, the weight my drivers license stated.

i was so happy i hit my goal but then i realized, what if i kept going? if it’s this easy, why stop here? i didn’t want to gain the weight back that i lost. plus everyone was saying how great i looked because i lost weight. tiktok videos came up encouraging me to lose weight. i weighed myself twice a day to see progress. my new psychiatrist and therapist weren’t keen on this and warned me to ditch the scale before this escalated into a fullblown eating disorder. i ignored them. i want to be skinnier, i want to look and feel great. i don’t want to be the weight that i used to be.

recently i downloaded myfitnesspal to track calories and calories that i burn with workouts. it says i should consume 1,390 calories a day if i want to lose a pound a week. with the workouts that i do, it wants me to eat more. i’ve been sticking around and eating no more than 1,000 calories a day with its frequent warnings of unhealthy weightloss. and maybe i’ve been lying to it because my weight sometimes fluctuates which i hate. i almost cried the other night because my weight was 124 lbs. my lowest so far has been 120lbs. donovan and my therapist are the only ones who know about my struggles with eating. my relationship with food has become dangerous. i hate eating and dread when the scheduled time to eat comes around. i hate the person i’ve become and at the same time, i don’t want to stop this habit.

[a-woman-apart]

Sometimes You Just Need a Nap (The Effexor Saga Continues)

So today, I started the day off well. When recording my voice diaries, I started to ramble a lot about how I’ve exceeded my food budget and spent money on medication I couldn’t even use. I was able to course-correct, though, and I came to the realization that my actions were justifiable considering everything that was going on. Also, even if I did make some poor decisions, this did not indicate a pattern of irresponsibility. I could forgive myself for being human and making mistakes. The only reasonable action to take following that realization was to strive to make better choices in the future.

As the morning bled into the afternoon, I started to feel more and more depressed, even though I had made some progress against self-criticism and self-doubt. I wanted to go to the laundry mat today and pick up around the house a little more, but I felt too weak. It was all I could do to go pick-up lunch (the responsible thing to do rather than paying for it to be delivered) eat it, and then collapse back onto the couch and cover myself with a blanket.

When I finally did go to take the nap, my sleep initially seemed fitful. I had strange dreams and thought I was hearing all sorts of noises. I woke up to what sounded like banging on the door, but when I looked out no one was there. I think the neighbors were just being super noisy today. Surprisingly, though, when I was able to get over the strangeness of it all, I realized that I felt so much more refreshed and energized than I had before. I still didn’t have the strength to run any errands, but I felt chipper enough to watch a movie, and so I did.

Sometimes, you just need a nap.

Of course, at the end of the day, I was back to being in an existential crisis. After my terrible experience of withdrawal with Effexor/Venlafaxine, I have decided that I want to take action against the manufacturers of the drug, or at the very least raise greater awareness about the harm that it can cause. If my experience with Effexor were unique to me, I would write it off as bad luck and would not be concerned. However, hearing the testimonials of so many other people who have been hurt by this drug and others like it, I am compelled to take action.

My boyfriend does not fully agree with my taking this course. He points out—rightfully so— that waging a war against a specific drug or class of drugs might be a waste of energy. The entire pharmaceutical industry, he said, was bork. We discussed how doctors are sometimes paid to prescribe medication. This is not to say that no prescribers have their patients’ best interest in mind, but it does mean that what they say needs to be taken with a grain of salt.

My boyfriend also cautioned me against strictly refusing to take a medication just because it falls in a certain category. I assured him that I still believe in medicine compliance but pointed out that the only psych drug that I have taken—as a bipolar patient— that has been more beneficial than harmful over an extended time period has been lithium. Even when things like antidepressants worked, I would have to be switched to a new one because they would not remain effective over time. Invega was wonderful, but the reproductive side effects were so bad that I had to be removed from it. I actually brought up the idea of my not needing antipsychotics for a long time, citing the irregular periods as a harm that I wasn’t sure was good for me to tolerate over the long term. It took me bleeding on/off for 40 days for them to listen to me.

I have now effectively become skeptical of anti-anxiety medication as well, even as my anxiety continues to be a problem. Lithium, on the other hand, has been doing its job. It hasn’t eliminated the symptoms of bipolar disorder (or I wouldn’t be taking other drugs along with it) but I have not had a major depressive episode or a full-blown manic episode since being on the drug.

I told my boyfriend that I did not feel like I should sacrifice my physical health for my mental health. He rightfully said that sometimes you cannot strike that “perfect balance” where your psych medicines do not cause other health problems. I pointed out that it depends on what you are willing to tolerate. I have tolerated weight gain, excessive thirst, and the risks of serious—even life-threatening side effects— so that I can exist at a healthy baseline of functioning. I have actually been very fortunate that I haven’t had to deal with some of the gnarlier side effects, but I’ve had my moments.

On Wellbutrin (taken for depression), my vision was poor enough for me to need to wear glasses to read; I first noticed the vision problems upon taking Wellbutrin but thought that they were exacerbated by a physical problem. Surprise— no more Wellbutrin, no more eye problems. Were the vision changes more annoying that truly harmful? Yes. Would I take Wellbutrin again knowing that they caused that? Nope.

For me, habit-forming drugs and drugs that cause discontinuation syndrome are deal-breakers. Drugs that cause excessive drowsiness that does not go away are deal-breakers. Drugs that cause hypomania/mania are deal-breakers. Drugs that are used to treat anxiety—but may instead cause it—are deal-breakers. Effexor fell in the latter category for me, but because I was using it to treat depression, I was willing to tolerate the slight uptick in my anxiety. This was a mistake. When my psychiatrist implicated it in my mixed mania, it went from a small mistake to a big one. I had always known that antidepressants carried a mania risk if they were used for a long time, but I took the risk. Taking that risk almost ended me in the hospital.

There is also a possibility that the Effexor and the Abilify don’t mix well, because adding that second dose of Abilify fucked with me, too, and was actually a partial catalyst for everything that transpired after that. My psychiatrist both removed the extra Abilify and Effexor at the same time, and that was when my symptoms went from “hard mode” to “nightmare mode.” The rest is history.

Look, I only have one point here. My boyfriend has been on the same antidepressant medication—with excellent results—for years. Antidepressants save lives.

They also take them.

I am not saying that these drugs should not be available. Also, to the manufacturer’s credit—but not that much because they are forced by law to include drug information— if you go to the website and read the boxed warning you can see that there is a warning about discontinuation syndrome. It is true that it is the responsibility of the patient to read the warnings and be informed about the drugs. However, in most pharmacies when you go to fill a prescription, if a drug carries a particular risk, you usually receive consultation regarding how to safely take that drug. In the same way, just as doctors now warn about the risks of suicidality for children and adolescents who take antidepressants, they should be required by law to warn patients about the severity of discontinuation syndrome.

I am not convinced that it is necessary to push for Effexor to be removed from the U.S. market—even though it is already banned in parts of Europe—but I would like to see patients being more informed about what they are putting into their bodies. When you go to a psych doctor, you often trust them to make decisions with your best interest at heart. In my opinion, this is sometimes a misplaced trust. They either are not aware of the consequences of certain medications, or they are deliberately downplaying the side effects of these medications, so you won’t be “too scared” to take them. This is disingenuous and must be stopped.

My boyfriend is concerned for my health, but I assured him that I wasn’t becoming anti-medicine. I know that alternative medicine can be just as bad—if not worse— than traditional western medicine. Depression can often not have a “cause” outside chemical issues in the brain, and if those issues are not first addressed, additional treatment may be ineffective. If a person struggles to get out of bed, exercise, and participate in work, family, and group activities, they may need a “jump start” to at least raise their level of functioning to where they can begin to slowly reintegrate into society and their lives. It’s true that medicine works best when paired with therapy and the use of coping skills, but the most important thing is to get that person well enough to participate in their own recovery. Like I said, too, lithium has been a wonder drug for me. It doesn’t “cure” everything, it just brings me up to where I can handle doing the hard work it takes to maintain a healthy life.

Even lithium, though, is dangerous. It can cause thyroid and kidney problems, so frequent blood tests are required. There is no drug that is risk-free. If I want to get off lithium though, I won’t start sweating, vomiting, and having seizures. Capsule sizes exist in enough variety that I can taper off slowly and safely. I just feel that if withdrawal is at all a concern, that concern should be discussed upfront with the patient. There are no exceptions.

Even though today has been better than a lot of days, I still don’t truly feel like myself. The intermittent gastrointestinal problems and dealing with fatigue are still affecting my day to day life. It’s true, sometimes you just need a nap, but sometimes you also need to be able to trust the people who are involved with your mental health.

I don’t think that’s too much to ask.

[mallorytaylorblog]

29th November, 2019

Who do I want to be?

I’m not judging myself here... it doesn’t feel like that. I was just sitting on the couch binge watching my current favourite TV show (”Younger” on Stan, go check it out), and I had to get up. I felt so restless and uncomfortable and I couldn’t figure out why. I still feel kind of icky. The place my sore little feet and legs dragged me to ended up being my bookshelf. My book collection is not as large as I wish it was, and there are so many books I’ve not yet read. I ended up browsing for a minute or two, just taking stock of who I have on my shelf. Lots of personal development books; a book about aliens and the paranormal I impulse bought from an op shop sale; plenty of Jodi Picoult (I just love the way her stories tear you apart then put you back together again) and a few text books for uni, among many others. I reached for one that was tucked away in the corner behind my piggy bank - “Inspired Destiny” by Dr. John Demartini. I’ve been to his seminars and have been fortunate enough to meet him and shake his hand - his teachings have definitely had an enormous impact on me. I realised once I picked up the book that I’d never actually read it - at least not this copy. It is signed by him and although I’ve read this book before I cannot remember what is in it. I’m going to read it again.

One of the things I want to do more often is find time to read for pleasure. I’m always hungry for more knowledge and believe reading books is so important. The uncomfortable feeling I felt whilst binge watching TV tonight stems from a need to feel busy, to feel like I’m doing something that is contributing to my goals. I find it difficult to relax because it feels like I’m “wasting time” when I could be doing something more productive. I dislike feeling lazy and I am ambitious with an idea of what I want my future to look like so I’m often hard on myself when I take time out to do something as benign such as watching TV - and it’s not a habit I indulge in often. The only time I really watch TV is when I’m watching Stargate with my partner (it’s a show we watch together and is part of our cuddle time and connecting, so it doesn’t really feel like I’m being lazy or indulgent). And yes I know it’s important to take time out for yourself, but I truly feel like TV is such a waste of time... most of the time. I mean, I do love a good documentary and sometimes it’s nice to just watch something that’s easy to digest that doesn’t require a lot of critical thinking, especially after a long day. So I appreciate it’s purpose. But 99% of the time watching TV isn’t something I enjoy doing.

That uncomfortable feeling like I was wasting my time had me thinking about what kind of person I want to become... What kind of person I am. I, like everyone I know, am a creature of habit, and the habits we form shape the way our lives play out. The little things we do day in and day out compound over time and impact the long term outcome enormously. Like going to the gym - you’ve got to be consistent to expect any sort of enduring result. Fad diets don’t work for that reason; it’s the lifestyle we live that contributes to our health outcomes. So when I sit on the couch, looking from my phone to the TV, back to my phone, back to the TV, a part of my quiet brain starts to tap on my proverbial shoulder and that uncomfortable feeling washes over me. I could be reading a book and expanding my knowledge, or I could be doing uni work, or I could be meditating. Anything else other than watching TV! Personal growth, as fucking ridiculously hard and uncomfortable and terrifying as it can be, is a something I’m always trying to embrace and even though it can be those things I know it doesn’t always have to be. I can make a conscious choice to seek out my growth and enjoy the journey. Reading, writing, meditating, even study are all things I enjoy and want to do more of.

But it’s the work. The effort that goes into those things. It’s off putting sometimes - especially with study. It sometimes so fucking difficult to set myself up in front of a thick, dense, dry psychology text book and force myself to read it, but once I get stuck into the course material I usually find it’s something I love learning about and before I know it an hour has gone past and I’ve read half a chapter (these chapters a huge, psych textbooks are no joke).

I realise that with anything worthwhile doing there will be challenge, discomfort and self doubt. But the pain we endure by putting off one thing is only easier to endure because the pain we perceive we will experience by actually doing the thing seems so much greater in comparison, even if the outcome of doing said thing is so much more amazing than our current reality. It’s like if you’ve ever broken up with someone - you put off having the break up conversation because you know it will be painful, but you’re persist through the pain of being in a relationship you’re not happy to stay in. Sometimes you’ve just got to tear the band-aid off.

I imagine my future (and current) self to be studious and always seeking to read, know and understand more; to be physically active until I end up on my death bed (ideally); to meditate consistently, and to find the time to read and journal more. These are all things I value and place importance on but I’ve yet to form habits for most of these - I’m not as regular and consistent as I wish to be. That uncomfortable feeling I felt on the couch tonight sometimes paralyses me but it also sometimes drives me to take action. And I’m trying to allow that feeling to inspire me more often.

So I got off the couch and headed to my bookshelf. I am responsible for the way my life turns out, so I’m going to read in bed tonight instead of scrolling mindlessly on my phone. I’m going to meditate because I know I always feel better when I do. It takes a bit of reminding sometimes but I hope to be consistent enough that I don’t have to rely on that pain and discomfort to prompt me - I want the good feelings that come with developing those habits to be what drive me to take action. And in all of this I have to be kind to myself while I take time to establish these new patterns of self care and unlearn old habits that don’t support the future I envision for myself.

Increasing self worth and letting go of judgement seem to go hand in hand here, so this is going to be an excellent time to practice both.

Well it’s before 10pm and I’m off to bed to read. What a wild Friday night! :)

[jadekitty777]

The Hero’s Road

Warning: Definitely has spoilers up to Volume 6, Episode 4  

Rating: K

Word Count: 3.5k

Ao3 Link: The Hero’s Road

Summary: Though every reincarnation was new, their role was always the same. This time around, Ozpin was set to be the guide, Oscar the driving force and, as always, Ozma was the spirit.

Things just… weren’t exactly going as planned right now. [Set sometime after Volume 6, Episode 4]

Notes:  So this is completely dedicated to @undeadwicchan​ who’s post here inspired me to do a character study on the three Oz’s (Ozma, Oscar and Ozpin). Beyond briefly utilizing the idea of Ozma coming to the rescue for Oscar, it doesn’t actually have much to do with the framework of the post itself - which, all the kudos to you for such a kickass headcanon; it would be seriously awesome to see executed in true canon. Nevertheless, with this volume making me all sorts of fond for the precious trio, this was just the jolt I needed to get writing something of my own!

~

It had been a long time since Ozma had been required to surface to the full forefront of control.

But Oscar, young and inexperienced as he was, could not handle the swarm that overtook Brunswick Farms. Roused by the cries for help, he swiftly took the reigns and joined the fight alongside team RWBY and Qrow. Yet, hindered without Ozpin’s melee experience, he relied entirely on his magic to combat the force – tipping them all off that he was neither of the two they had come to expect to see.

As soon as the last Grimm faded, they turned on him, as he expected they would.

“What are you doing here?” Sir Branwen’s voice was as sharp as his weapon. Unlike his kin, fear did not shake him; he stood taller in the face of adversary. Were the man a true bird, one might believe such a valiant personality would go up against even an eagle. It was a quality that was hard not to admire.

But when faced with it in opposition, even dug deep in their mind as he was, he could feel the pang from Ozpin’s heart. He fathomed that no matter how many times he was reborn, there would always be those select few that their desertion would strike hard enough to unbalance them. It was just unfortunate that those around them often forgot the fact they were still entirely human themselves.

“Do you know how many lifetimes I have led?” Ozma questioned. He turned to face them, their combined ire doing nothing to weigh him. “Ninety-three. The ninety first and second were the closest we’ve ever gotten to unifying humanity. A hundred years to end a war and bring about comradeship among our kingdoms. To create technology and advancements the world had never seen before. To build the schools and raise a defense force for the many less-abled.” He stepped forward, his voice rising with his righteous fury, “And one night was all it took to see so much of that undone. One night for irreparable damage to be done.” He looked to Lady Xiao Long as he said this, watching as her gaze averted. He turned to Lady Belladonna and Lady Schnee next, “For fear and uncertainty to halt us.” Finally, to Lady Rose and Sir Branwen, “Or for those to be lost that could never be returned.”

The snow crunched underfoot as Qrow challenged him, “That’s not-”

“One mere hour for you all to lose your confidence.” He swept his cane in indication of them, stalling it to point to the man. When only silence reigned, Ozma placed it down, crossing his hands over the top. “I am not naïve to what the power of destruction can do. It is in it that has my former love so lost.” He shut his eyes, briefly seeking the one locked away; but Ozpin still was not ready to give up the key. “It is in that, I find myself lost as well.”

“Then how can you ask us to fight an enemy we can’t beat?!” Yang snapped, her fire refueled. Another quality that was easy to admire, but when misdirected, became her greatest obstacle.

“Then I will not.” He replied simply. “I instead ask you to fight for what is right. Every moment we delay is a chance for Salem to continue her advance. Atlas and Shade are no doubt her next targets. Every life we can save by merely intervening is worth it. However, whether you stand by me for that end or not is only a choice you can make.” He walked past them, heading back for the farmhouse they had come to make their own.

“Where are you going?” Asked Lady Schnee.

“To lie down. I used a tad too much magic. Oscar will need time to recover.” He paused, glancing over his shoulder. “And he, like all of you, needs time to consider what he truly wishes to do.” He continued onward.

What I wish to do? Oscar repeated faintly.

Did you truly not believe you had a choice? He thought back.

Silence was his only answer.

Ozma quickened his step just so. It seems he had more work to do.

~

When Oscar awoke, he was neither on the couch he had laid down on nor in the farmhouse at all. Above him were the branches of trees, sunlight streaming through and dappling along the ground, confusing him with their lack of snow and cold. As he sat up, it was with a start he realized he was not alone.

Ozma sat on the ground a few feet from him. He may have been meditating but at the sound of movement, his eyes opened. “Ah, it was much easier to call you here than I feared.”

“What’s going on? Where are we?” Oscar demanded. Things were already weird enough in his head; if he found out he had some crazy super ability to astral project, he was done.

“Calm, young one.” Ozma replied, raising a hand. “You are still asleep. This is merely a mental space in which we can talk. As for where we are…” He looked about. “You’ll have to tell me. It is your psyche after all.”

He looked around, realizing the other man was right. He did know this place. “It’s one of the forest trails that leads back to my farm.” It was the same one he’d taken to leave.

There was a rattle of armor as the other stood. “Then perhaps we can take a walk together. I’d enjoy to see it.”

Yeah right. Still, Oscar allowed himself to be helped up, doing his best to keep up with him as they walked down the dirt path. As they did, he could not help but sneak glances at the man. He truly appeared as if he were someone who stepped right out of a fairytale, with armor meant for a knight and a cape befitting a superhero. Even his body language seemed strong, with his shoulders and head high, his stride long so that it forced Oscar to take two steps to his every one. How could he walk with such confidence when everything in his life had gone so wrong?

Ozma caught him staring and smiled at him. “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yea!” Oscar looked down, his face heating. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Whatever you would like. I’m sure you have a lot on your mind.”

He thought of asking the one he’d just thought, but quickly shook it aside. He went for something safer instead. “Why do you want to see my dingy old farm? I’m sure it’s nothing nearly as amazing as the stuff you’ve seen.”

Ozma chuckled. “You know, I always loved adventuring. It was what made me decide to set off from home. I wanted to see the world. Experience everything to its fullest.” He waved his hands outwards, encapsulating a sight Oscar could not see. “My travels brought me to so many places. Grand castles. Beautiful canyons. Stunning oceans. And yes, even ‘dingy’ old farms.”

“And you left, as easy as that.” He shook his head. Figures.

“I never said it was easy. My father was furious. Every night he told me I was throwing my life away. And my mother cried and cried.” Ozma looked away and though his smile stayed, there was something sorrowful there. “I don’t think I could have ever disappointed them more.”

Like a Grimm to a mourner, he couldn’t help but wonder what his own parents would have said, had they still been around. He felt something settle against his gut uncomfortably. A weight he hadn’t felt in years, but its presence was as agonizing as ever. He ran a hand over his face, trying to act like he was brushing away an itch and not the burn in his eyes. “So why did you do it?”

“It was all I wanted. I didn’t want to live with the regret I hadn’t tried.” Ozma placed his hand over his heart. “It just felt right.”

His feet stopped, the sentence striking a painfully familiar chord in him and words spilled out before Oscar could help it, “Is that why I felt that way when I left? Was it you!?” So many emotions were filling him he didn’t know where one began and another ended, but anger seemed to take the helm, raising in a great tidal wave inside of him. “Huh?! Was it?! How many other things haven’t been me?! What else is just you or him or, or someone else!!”

Ozma reached for him, “Oscar-”

“No!” He smacked the hand away, stumbling backwards. “When I was younger, I used to dream about it, you know? Setting out on my own big adventure. Becoming a hero like the ones we saw on TV. I thought that was what I wanted.” He looked away, his fists so tight at his side they shook. “But now I get it. I never had it in me to leave. It’s… it’s always just been you, hasn’t it? And that’s what it’s going to be like, isn’t it?!” He bowed his head, fighting down tears but not the other’s approach this time, or the hands that laid on his shoulders. He let his head thunk against the metal breastplate. “I didn’t even get a choice! It’s not fair!” Metal rang as he slammed his fist against the other’s chest. “It’s not fair!!”

The arms that encircled him tightened. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s not.”

He hit him again, strength waning. By the third strike it was barely more than a weak knock. He slumped against him. “I’m just going to disappear, aren’t I?”

“Of course not.” Ozma’s voice was soft, almost fatherly in a way he’d almost forgotten, as he spoke against his hair. “If Ozpin nor I have disappeared, why would you?”

Oscar snuffled, tilting his head up, “But Qrow, he said…”

“An injured heart will say much in an effort to ease its own pain.” He stepped back, just enough to look at him properly. “I will not lie and say that the lines do not blur at times, but there will always be a distinctive you in here and your input is always as important as ours. And you will always have the right to choose.”

“What about at Haven?” He bit back.

Ozma laughed softly. “The same can be said about Jinn.”

His eyes widened. “I- That was- I was just-”

There was a shake of his head and a hand on his shoulder once more as the man lent down to his eye-level. “I apologize, it was not an accusation. Merely an observation. None of us have been very fair to each other. But while the past can’t be undone, we can change moving forward. If this coexistence is to work, that is.”

“So what if I said I wanted to go back home?” He challenged.

He expected him to blanch or backtrack. But Ozma only smiled and said, “Then I’ll help you buy the train ticket this time.” The hand on his shoulder squeezed; a reassuring touch. “Is that what you want?”

Oscar looked away, wiping away tears. “No. I dunno. Maybe.”

He rose. “What is it that makes you uncertain?”

A sigh heaved from deep in his chest, focusing on the dirt between their shoes. “I’m… not like you guys. I’m no knight running out to save damsels from towers. Or some wise professor who can motivate a whole school of people to be these great fighters.” He laughed bitterly as he threw up his hands. “I couldn’t even get that guy to shut off those stupid turrets! I’m not particularly smart or skilled,” Finally, he looked up at other. “Or brave.”

An eyebrow rose like a startled exclamation. “Are those the things that you believe a hero to be?”

“Of course they are!” When Ozma’s expression did not change though, Oscar felt uncertain suddenly. “…Aren’t they?”

He hummed thoughtfully as he waved to the trail before them. As Oscar took his place beside him again, he was given his answer, “They are good qualities, certainly. But one can be skilled, yet never use them to assist others. One can be smart, but remain uncaring to other’s plights. One can be brave, but recklessly so.”

“So then, what does make a hero?” He asked.

Ozma’s eyes glittered merrily. “What is it about Lady Rose that impresses you so?”

Ruby? “Well she’s… amazing.” He thought back on the train, how easily she got Dudley to listen to her when he couldn’t. How she commanded her team to focus. How even now her words to him back at the house at Haven still inspired him. “She can motivate others.”

“What do you think it is about her that gives her that ability?”

As he tried to think it over, he found he couldn’t pin down something tangible. It just seemed to be something that was inherently there. A piece of her that made people want to stand beside her. Something in the way she viewed the world, with such a bright and kind spirit, that made others want to do the same.

… Oh. “Her heart.” He said finally.

“Yes.” Ozma nodded. “A good, strong heart is first thing a true hero needs.”

Oscar placed a hand over his own. Did he have that?

“If I may be bold,” He added, tone amused. “I do think it is also worth saying that I do not often witness fourteen-year-olds rushing across the top of speeding trains. I believe what you lack is not any of the things you think you do, but merely your own self-belief.”

“What do you mean?”

“To have faith in others, first you must find it in yourself. Though, I will admit, in the face of failure, it can be one of the hardest things to hold onto.” As they reached towards the end of the trail, the world grew dark and grey as storm clouds hovered overhead, blocking out the sun. Ozma’s expression seemed to do the same as looked into the distance. “No matter how strong they are.”

Oscar stared as well, discovering that they had not entered the plains that would lead to the farm, but a courtyard leading to a school he had never seen in person, but recognized as if it were his own home. “Beacon.”

“How curious. I did say before this was your psyche we were traveling in. So why do you think it brought us here?” Ozma quipped.

He gazed upwards slowly, to the office he had once been able to mentally photograph perfectly, and knew exactly who was hiding within it.

Oscar squared his shoulders and held his head high just like his companion.  “I think it’s telling me it’s my turn to rescue someone from a tower.”

He walked forward.

~

A quiet, familiar ding roused Ozpin from his stupor. He lifted his head from his arms, finding it as heavy as the rest of him felt. He could hear the gears around him turning, and realized where he was. Asleep in his office again? Then no doubt it was Glynda coming to chastise him. He reached for his glasses, slipping them on to at least appear more presentable – and with it his hazy vision cleared, startling him when instead of his dear assistant, it was two familiar gentlemen approaching.

Right.

He was dead.

(How was Glynda doing? And… how long would it be until the truth got to her? What would she think of him then?)

“Ah, time for The Walk?” Ozpin asked, willing himself not to sink back to sleep.

“Wait. This is a thing?” Oscar asked.

Though he couldn’t muster a laugh, he could not help but be lightened by the boy’s simple innocence. He was going to go on to be a great reincarnation.

“It’s a practice I sometimes perform once my new host learns the full truth. I find it helps to uplift the spirit.” Ozma replies. “Though, it’s usually not this soon.”

Oscar turned to him. “I learned sooner than you?”

Ozpin crossed his hands, smiling to the boy. “Four years, to be exact. I was also twice your age.” He focused on one of the larger cogs underneath the glass surface if the desk, watching it turn. “I’m embarrassed to admit I purchased a one-way ticket to Vacuo that same day.”

“…What made you stay?”

What indeed. “As luck would have it, whether it be good or bad, a rather… problematic student was sent to my office that day. If I recall, this time around he had intentionally set the dust lab on fire.” Though, it could have also been the time he clogged the drain of the courtyard fountain. The record had become quite extensive. “Most of the other facility believed him to simply be a destructive sort. But I suspected different. Yet no matter how many times he was sent to my office, no matter how many conversations we had, I couldn’t get him to speak a word. He would just ask for his punishment in his crude way, pay it, and be back in a week.”

Ozpin rose to his feet, heading to his window that overlooked his former school. “That day though, on what I thought would be my last, I took a chance and acted on my suspicions.” His eyes darted to Oscar’s reflection as the boy approached. “You see, Beacon was always a school designed to have a low entry requirement. It was a school meant to train the best of the kingdom, but also be a shelter many could seek refuge in. Quite a few enrolled were those thrown from their own homes. So, I questioned him if that was what had happened to him and I learned more than I thought he would offer.”

He shut his eyes, still able to picture so clearly the seventeen-year-old Qrow that had eventually dissolved into tears, angry and pained by a world that didn’t want him and so full of hate at himself for a semblance he could not help. It seemed to be an impossible problem. Fortunately, Ozpin knew a bit about those. It was surprising to realize just how much of a difference a little empathy could go to heal a hurt soul.

“I did not stay that day for the war. I stayed because he helped remind me why being a professor could be so rewarding. I enjoyed having a part in my students’ lives, to help guide them into finding better ones.” He sighed. “I realize now that I’ve repaid him rather poorly for that.”

“So then, how are you repaying him any better by hiding away here?”

Ozpin turned to the boy, unsure if he was more surprised by his gall or his bull-headed honesty. In the background, Ozma started to chuckle.

“I did not lie before. I – we – do not know where to go from here.” And after so many lifetimes trying, maybe it was time to admit they just weren’t cut out for the task.

But it was Oscar, despite how he often quivered in the face of Grimm, who nodded and said. “Yeah, I know. And that’s scary.” He shifted on his feet, admitting softly, “But it’s even scarier facing it alone.”

That, more than anything, snapped him into wakefulness. You are meant to be guiding him Oz. What are you doing?

He placed a hand on his shoulder, knowing how much weight it was already carrying and much, much too much for one so young. “I’m so sorry, Oscar.”

“I am sorry too.” Ozma finally spoke, crossing over to them. “To both of you; that you must bear the burden of my mistakes as if they are your own.” He looked to each of them. “But if it is something we must bear together, then let us bear it equally, as we too should be.”

Oscar’s eyebrow rose in confusion, looking towards him for help. “Uhh…?”

He smiled. “He means that I need to stop treating you like a child."

“Oh.” He replied, seeming to take that newfound growth in. Whatever conclusion he came to made him nod once more, before he spoke again, “I’m sorry to both of you as well. I thought I was doing something right, with Jinn. I thought I was helping but all it did was end up hurting everyone.”

“You are certainly not the only one.” Ozpin agreed. The more he let those words sink in, the more he realized he was not the only one who needed to hear them. “Oscar?”

“Yes?”

“When we awaken, there’s someone I’ll need to speak with.”

The boy frowned. “Okay. But if he punches us again, I’m hitting him with the cane.”

Ozpin finally found it in him to laugh again.

[marishmallowthings]

It always hurts

How did I get to this point in my life? I am 25, I have fibromyalgia and smoke a ton of weed. I have a certificate to be a medical assistant, and I am working.

 If we rewind my life back to 18, I was a smart, aspiring, Nursing student. I was pretty, naturally without any piercings, and I avoided drugs. I got to a point around that age, that running 3 miles was a good workout for me, and I did not get sore afterwards. I would go for runs at midnight after my shift at subway. It was exhilarating. I was single, and sexy. I was excited about my future.

Now, I’m usually depressed. I go to work, with a feeling that most of my coworkers think I am stupid. I don’t get paid as much, and I am put with providers that have easier schedules. It is true, that this is my first job as a certified medical assistant. I have this problem, where my blood pressure is low. When I sit in one spot, my body will become too calm, and before I know it, I’m jolting awake 10 minutes later. Sometimes, embarrassingly, my coworkers will catch me and wake me up. I have definitely got in trouble for it. I could get fired for it. I swear to god, that I don’t even know when I fall asleep. The sleep doctor does not believe it is narcolepsy, which would make it my fault. But I swear it’s not. I hate that I can’t defend myself for something completely out of my control. And it's all because of fibromyalgia. 

I picked up fibromyalgia around the age of 22 or 23. All because of a boy. His name was Jones, he was a short micronesian boy. He drove trucks for work, had lots of interesting stories. But most of all he was good looking. He kept himself very clean, slicked back his dark hair, and wore tank tops to show off his arms and back. Most of all, he treated me like I was the best thing to ever happen to him. He catered to me. My name was “Princess,” in his phone, he bought me lattes and took me out in his fast, red Chevy Camaro. But then, he already was a father of 2, and his babymama asked for child support. He figured that he could sell marijuana, and keep the money without telling the government. They were going to take half his paycheck, and he paid rent. 

I was never extroverted, I grew up without siblings and enjoyed my alone time. I have social anxiety, and I am always worried about people not liking me. At first, I would sometimes go with him on deliveries. I didn’t trust this good looking guy. But after a while it got boring, and I elected to stay home. Eventually I put myself back in school for a CMA certification, so I was away M-f from 7am to 10 pm. But his extra job required him to be friendly with many people, he slept with a gun, went to parties. He was away often, and also cranky. 

He never acknowledged my feelings, he would just get annoyed and make me deal with it. Most of the time it was him disrespecting me and my feelings, and ignoring it didn’t help. I’d often walk away or choose not to spend time with him. That made him upset because I didn’t tell him where I was going. I just wanted him to pay attention to me in the first place. He also wanted me to act a certain way around his friends and customers so he could be successful. I remember in the cold winter months, some nights I was so upset I slept in my car. When I’m depressed I lose all care about my body. I remember having panic attacks at his parties and everyone thought I was crazy. I remember cowering from him, he would yell at m, tell me how I needed to change.

This really took a toll on me but I had no idea. One morning I woke up, and my joints hurt so bad. I thought it was a cold or something, but it came back every morning. I started smoking some flower just to get some relief. I was tired, my brain didn’t seem as quick. I went to the doctor and it took them months of testing to figure it out, because fibromyalgia is not easy to diagnose. I was on steroids, getting MRI’s and CT’s. Everything came out normal. Finally, I was given some lyrica, to see if it helped. And sure enough it did. My final diagnosis was fibromyalgia.

The thing about fibromyalgia, is it is caused by trauma. It can be mental or physical. All the yelling and panic attacks he caused, was enough trauma to get me sick, Chronically. Chronically sick because of a dumb 22 year old  boy who broke my heart. Now I deal with the consistent fatigue that lingers, making me more lazy. The pain every morning that never stops hurting. May be I’m not as brilliant as I used to be. I can’t be blamed for being depressed, after getting this sickness from a boy I was not even with for a year. Every day is pain now, it really is a sad thing. I try to get so high to not feel anything, that is relief. Intaking so much marijuana that I’m only kinda here. That I don’t have to think about how dumb I am, or what I have become. The bottoms of my feet, legs and fingertips go numb normally now, I don’t sleep without melatonin, and my joints usually hurt. My nervous system is messed up. 

I didn’t know I was being abused, until Sharon told me so. Sharon helped me with my psych problems. She told me some of the most important words I have ever heard, “It wasn’t your fault 

Marissa.” Narcissists know just how to reel people in, so that they can manipulate them later. But why didn’t I leave? Stolkholm syndrome. I had been living alone for a while, and he distanced me from family and friends. He didn’t like my mother, he believed that she didn’t like him. After that came the Body dysmorphic disorder, social anxiety, PTSD, excoriation disorder and depression. It took months to work through and sort all the thoughts in my brain. Writing this  story is a way to keep it straight too. This all happened chronologically.