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deersalad · 1 year ago

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I Mean I'm Sick of Meaning, I Just Wanna Hold You

Tags: F/F, Mariner/T'Lyn, Mari'lyn, Fluff, Friendship, Star Trek, Lower Decks, Kinda Canon compliant, T4T Summary: What's a Vulcan to do with these feelings? Well T'Lyn is about to find out and Mariner is going to be very integral to this journey of self-discovery and deviation from Vulcan norms. "My objective was to be comedic and arouse you sexually, I believe I have succeeded on both counts." Mariner was trying to tamp down her laughter as T’Lyn’s monotone voice hit her like a wave breaking on rocks. She couldn't believe what she was hearing from T'Lyn, who was situated on the couch with her legs crossed in those black regulation star fleet pants - god how does she pull them off so well? But she focused her mind back on the situation at hand, T'Lyn had called her here because of a "peculiar situation" and Mariner could tell that she was acting unusual, she wasn’t meeting her eyes and kept tracing a seam in those form-fitting pants- god she needs to gets her mind of the gutter her friend could be in danger.

"Woah woah wait, is this like pon farr? God wow I've always been curious! But like not in a weird way! I just heard about when it happened to Spock and you know there's those rumors about him and Kirk and I mean back on Earth the humans who repress themselves the most tend to be the freakiest and oh my god I am going to shut up." Mariner closed her mouth and yet her eyes communicated more than enough as they quickly flashed a look from T'Lyn's eyes to her curves that were hugged by that Andorian-blue science officer shirt. She briefly thought of Jenifer but pushed that thought to the side, it wouldn't serve her here, this was an entirely different beast and she had to focus on helping her friend. Mariner mentally decided that the shirt was closer to warp core-blue anyways as T'Lyn began to speak and move imperceptibly closer to her on the couch in her room.

"Well, not exactly. As it seems you are aware, pon farr occurs roughly every 8 years for a Vulcan of sexual maturity, and the symptoms can be quite debilitating and even fatal if not handled. But it is not yet time for my next cycle and I do not feel the regular effects… instead I am experiencing something pon farr-like." T'Lyn's eyes moved the smallest degree downwards and to the right to look at Mariner, who didn't notice.

"Uh huh and you want me to take you to sick bay in case something happens or whatevs? Or like, do you want me to go on a daring adventure with you to find a hot Vulcan doctor who can diagnose you and or help you if this is pon farr?"

"Well, when I invited you here to my room I was not quite certain why I reached the conclusion that it would be most beneficial to call on your aid but now I… I believe I understand the logic I was operating on." T'Lyn again moved a quarter millimeter closer to Mariner who had a visible look of confusion. "Woah like did your Vulcan mind powers detect something special in me that you need?" Mariner said with a wry smile and small laugh before it was cut short by T'Lyn reaching her hand over and touching the very tips of her fingers for a moment. "Well, you are not wholly incorrect," she paused as a shudder passed through her from the hand to hand contact, "I do not believe this is related to my Vulcan nature but is rather a consequence or perhaps comorbidity of my heightened emotions and spontaneity.” T’Lyn placed both her hands in her lap in a futile attempt to stop her from yet again acting so impulsively.

Mariner’s look of confusion was now tinged with worry as she looked on her friend who was clearly fighting some kind of inner turmoil, “hey sorry if my joke was off-color I know this is probably stressing you out and stuff, I can grab T’ana and bring her here if you’re worried about being around the other crew,” Mariner began to stand before being interrupted suddenly.

“No.” T’Lyn still wasn’t looking at Mariner as she let out that singular word that hung in the air.

Mariner waited for a followup and when she received none she decided to venture forth, “hey girl, are you like infected by a parasite or mind virus or something, you’ve just… look I noticed you touching my hand and even I know enough about Vulcans to know that’s way out of character. Usually you’re down to go to sickbay just to see all the weird places people get stabbed so you can record it or whatever, I remember you typing up a storm on Orion whenever someone, usually me, got impaled one way or another. Sorry, god, my mind’s all over the place and wait is this like that one time with the Betazoids? Do I need to give you a pep talk?”

T’Lyn gave a solemn shake of her head, “No, I have no reason to believe that my current status would be affecting your or anyone else’s emotional state. I can logically see why you would consider my behavior odd, the hand touch was an impulsive movement and I do apologize.” Mariner could not believe that she was still dodging around what was going on and why was she so feeling so fucking worked up? She wasn’t thinking straight, “Hey do you want me to get Boims? He knows everything about niche alien conditions, I can also grab Rutherford or Tendi, both of them are way smarter than me and frankly I still don’t see what logic brought you to asking me for help,” she let out a nervous laugh at the self-deprecation, what the fuck was this feeling? WHY WAS SHE THINKING SO MUCH ABOUT JENNIFER?

“No to both counts, I understand I am being vague and not sharing my lines of reasoning and for this I do apologize, I am just experiencing something I do not fully have the words for. I requested your help specifically and I know it was the correct decision. These past few days you have continuously been coming to mind in unrelated circumstances and thoughts, this initially troubled me as I was worried that I may have been psychically projecting onto you. But I had Dr. T’ana run a series of medical diagnostics and there were no abnormalities. Still I requested a copy of the scans she performed, particularly of my brain.” She paused as she felt her hands fighting her to reach out to Mariner, who was still standing.

“Yeah ok all that makes sense and wow you and Tendi really have got to talk about medical shit sometime, but if all the scans were normal then what’s up?” Mariner was still confused and sat on the small coffee table across from T’Lyn, falling flat on her back as her legs hung over the side. She was feeling weird whenever she looked at T’Lyn and that certainly wasn’t helping the situation.

“Well I pored over the documents and images and I could not find anything indicating illness, possession, psychic interference, strange energies, or any other possible source of imbalance. But I started to look at the areas of neural activity on the scan and the part that would be analogous to your hypothalamus was experiencing higher than usual levels of activation but not to such an extent as to alert the doctor…” T’Lyn said this in a way that made Mariner feel stupid for missing something. “And…?”

T’Lyn took a moment to respond, her hands were visibly shaking and Mariner was afraid she was about to cry, "and… well the hypothalamus is one of the oldest parts of the human brain in terms of evolutionary development and is integral to some of the most basic and instinctual parts of your psychology and biology. For us Vulcans it is much the same.” Again she paused completely, and at Mariner’s continued look of confusion and concern she decided to push onwards, “Well, its function is to maintain the homeostasis of the human body via influence of hormones and the nervous system, it regulates many drives, including sleep, hunger, thirst-”

God she was so fucking cute when she went on and on about all the things she knew but Mariner could tell she was stalling and she knew even the tiniest bit of time wasted could mean all the difference between life and death, “hey I’m sorry to interrupt but I have gotta get you moving along, I can tell you’re stalling and if you’re about to reveal to me that you’re going to explode, or liquefy, or turn into a slime in 5 hours or something then I would rather know that sooner than later, so what’s your hypowhatever got to do with this?” God she sounded like her mom, she didn’t want to be stern but she cared a lot about T’Lyn, she was a good friend and Mariner didn’t want anything to happen to her.

“That is what I was about to get to, in Vulcans our analogous section of the brain carries many of the same function but it also works to regulate pon farr, it operates much the same way as the hypothalamus regulating sexual drives but in a much more drastic manner that affects the totality of Vulcan biology. After looking at everything I determined that I seemingly experiencing an activation that is not on the scale of pon farr but is somehow related. I believe this is the reason for my strange and illogical thoughts and behavior and I feel that you may have a solution.” T’Lyn let her shoulders slouch the tiniest bit after getting all this out, as if she were relaxing after an intense exercise.

Mariner instantly shot up into a sitting position and looked at T'Lyn, “oh my god, T’Lyn, you’re not going to die, you’re just horny.” P.S.: So my partner and I watched the new episodes of season 4 and I made a one off joke that's the starting line of this fic and somehow that morphed into the both of us full on writing so here you go: All you Mari'lyn enjoyers I guess can eat up or whatever. I don't have an AO3 account but whenever I make one I'll upload this on there, this was actually a pretty fun writing exercise.

#lower decks #star trek #beckett mariner #t'lyn #t'lyn x mariner #mari'lyn lower decks #mari'lyn #fanfic #femslash #wlw ship #I forgot how much I love writing fanfiction and this pairing is giving me such bad brainworms #star trek fanfic #star trek: lower decks

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static-radio-ao3 · 6 months ago

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hi mil love <3 10 & 18

hello rosie rosier rosiest <3

10. would you say you're an emotional person?

absolutely <33 i think my emotional regulation is down in the fucking gutter but we move

18. do you believe in ghosts/aliens?

mmmmm ghosts, not necessarily? but aliens yes, i think there's no way there's nothing else out there

ask me a question

#breaking news: girl who is writing ghost fic does not really believe in ghosts #sorry.........#do you though?? believe in ghosts and/or aliens??#rose tag <3 #mil's got mail

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askaborderline · 2 years ago

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tw self harm, self hatred

hello, i was wondering if any of the mods had advice for alternatives to self harm as a form of punishment? i see writing with a red marker or squeezing ice and that helps more if i'm self harming for emotion regulation but idk what else to do when i'm really disgusted with myself and feel like i need to be punished

Hi anon, I have an extensive history of self-harm and self-punishment here, so here's some things I do to help.

The red marker thing works for me if I specifically write demeaning and derogatory things about myself on my arms or wherever - to immediately clarify, it's not healthy to self-demonize, however if you absolutely cannot surf out the urge than it is a better alternative to actually cutting or burning.

Similarly, if you're creative or want to be, vent art / writing is a great help - I have a tendency to write out a lot of characters like me and throw them through the gutter before working out more logically if I/they really deserved that and it becomes a whole process

Another very helpful thing I've learned is to essentially tell yourself that "I can punish myself, but not now. Later". Usually I say "after I sleep on it" or so, but the point of this exercise is that by the time "later" comes, you've usually mood swinged and don't even want to do it anymore.

I hope any of this proves a help, and if you need any further help please feel free to harass me (/lh) here or @fearofahumanplanet :)

#mod jane #aab #tw self harm

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ss9slb · 4 years ago

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Princes of the Undead

Part 3 Chapter 17 part b

----/---

The flagstones were cold under her knees, but Agatha didn’t flinch; being dead had to have some advantages. Regardless of her undead state, Agatha’s muscle memory was still there even after all these years, in fact there were moments when the last 125 years almost seemed like a fever dream. Her life as a vampire, Dracula, the modern world she had become a part of did not encroach on the tranquillity of the nunnery. The liturgy of the Latin, the itch of the habit against her flesh, skin which had grown spoilt from the fine fabrics her lover, no her fiancé, had seen her clothed in.

All around her heads were bowed in her earnest prayer, her small company of sisters, and yet Agatha’s own pleas were addressed to a far different source. It made her feel like a fraud, Agatha hadn’t really prayed during the services in months, she no longer really believed in an almighty lord. Yet she didn’t feel guilt about not praying to their god, maybe a little about misleading the kind sisters, instead Agatha used this time to clear her mind and concentrate on that link in her mind that tied her to Dracula. Reaching their connection was like sinking into a warm embrace, not strong enough for words or images, but feelings flowed easily, Dracula’s felt especially strong, but Agatha wasn’t certain he was strong enough to pick up on her feelings over such a distance.

Over the last few months, Agatha had felt a wide range of feelings from her intended…Anger, lots of anger and impatience, but also a sense of excitement, almost anticipation, he was enjoying himself; if it were not for the all-pervading feeling of loneliness Agatha might have thought Dracula was barely missed her at all. Not that her own time hadn’t been full of their own challenges. On the first days following washing up on that Corsican beach Agatha had toyed with the idea of heading back to London. Yet Mycroft’s warning and her own circumstances had encouraged her play it safe, to stick with the hiding and waiting approach. So instead she had headed in the opposite direction, to a home of a different sort; and although hiding out in Dracula’s castle had a certain appeal, Agatha knew it was also foolhardy, so she settled for the little town convent and hid herself in plain sight.

Yet Agatha couldn’t pretend part of her wasn’t getting a little impatient.

It had been four months to the day since that fateful night, surely whatever was keeping Dracula away and so tense must be over by now? Perhaps it was wishful thinking on her part, but it almost felt like their bond was strengthening, almost like Dracula was drawing ever closer, and Agatha had to keep her hope under strict regulation. But despite her best attempts Agatha couldn’t ignore the growing certainty that Dracula was coming to find her, finally, that he would find her soon…and not just her.

Agatha had to resist the urge to touch her stomach as she felt the delicate little fluttering within her, a fluttering that grew stronger by the day. The first time she had felt it Agatha hadn’t believed it; it wasn’t a sensation she had ever expected to feel, not after she had taken her vows and certainly not after she had died. In fact, it had taken at least three times before she had come to accept the truth, that wasn’t simply imagining it, that she was carrying Dracula’s child. Their child. If it wasn’t the height of blasphemy to say so in a consecrated place, Agatha would have considered it a miracle.

“Sister Agatha…”

Blinking in surprise Agatha looked up realising the in her own musings she had missed the end of services and that her sisters had left her behind…well most of them had, Mother Superior had remained behind. Standing as mark of respect Agatha was surprised when the other nun merely waved her to take a seat in the pew, before herself sinking to sit down beside her.

“This is not the first time I have found you lost in prayer my child; your devotion is a credit to you.”

Agatha was relieved vampires couldn’t blush, for the proof of such undeserved praise would historically have been written across her cheeks. Instead she bowed her head, doing her best to avoid the scrutinising gaze of the nun that had been kind enough to take pity on her; taking her in when Agatha had turned up on her doorstep pleading for a place to hide. That she had done so without asking any awkward questions really had been a miracle, but it was not one that Agatha had expected to need for so long.

“However, devotion alone…” Mother Superior added and now it was her turn to blush, a blush that sent a pang of hunger rushing through Agatha. She needed to feed soon, and each time it took more and more to sate her hunger, the occasional thefts of blood from the local hospital were no longer enough…another development to blame on her little hitch hiker.

“…My child when you arrived here asking for sanctuary I didn’t ask questions about why, I just assumed you had regretted your choice to leave the sanctuary of the church, and I was happy to accept you into our little sisterhood.” The elderly nun trailed off, suddenly bashful for such a normally forthright woman.

“Are you asking me to leave Mother?” Agatha prompted her gently, reaching out to lightly cover the nun’s hand, regretting the impulse slightly when she could now feel the rush of a thready pulse beneath the wrinkled exterior.

“Yes, I’m afraid I am… not immediately of course, I wouldn’t simply cast you aside, I just feel that for a woman in your condition…” she paused, knowing eyes glancing down to Agatha’s stomach, and lingering there until her point was made… “well there are more appropriate places than a convent.”

“My condition.” Agatha began, before adding honestly. “I didn’t think it was so noticeable.”

“Perhaps not to my sisters, many have poor enough eyesight, but I used to be a midwife before I joined the sisterhood. Besides you are so tall, and this is your first is it now? So, it is not as obvious as it might be, but to a trained eye the signs were obvious.” Mother Superior added with a hint of a smile. “Your lover is the…”

“Father, yes he is.” Agatha finished for her. “And we are to be married, just as soon as he can come and find me, this child is very much wanted by both of us.”

“And yet you have hidden yourself away here?”

“It’s…it’s complicated.” That was the understatement of the century, and yet somehow Agatha managed to say it with a straight face.

“My dear, I hate to introduce an element of doubt but how can you be so certain? He would hardly be the first man to run away from his responsibilities, and that you have been left to fend for yourself and at such a time…”

“Mother forgive me you don’t know him. You don’t understand just what we have gone through together, I know Vlad would never ever just give up on me. He is coming, I guarantee within the month I will no longer be imposing on you…”

“Personally, I would say by the end of the day.” A familiar cocksure voice called out from down the aisle, interrupting Agatha’s impassioned defence and causing both nuns to whirl around in the pew.

Leaning against a stone pillar Dracula took in his first sight of Agatha in months. It was like being flung back in time, complete with habit and that piercing stare of hers. Only knowing her as intimately as he did, allowed Dracula to discern the different flickers of emotion, surprise, relief, even joy, before she settled back into her default expression of looking irritated with him…oh how he had missed that glare.

“Oh, now this takes me back…Sister Agatha it is such a delight to renew our acquaintance.” Dracula was amused beyond anything to see Agatha once again dressed as a nun, a suggestive grin spreading across his lips as he imagined disrobing her from such an outfit, or perhaps insisting she kept it on?

“Well if you didn’t wait four months there wouldn’t be a need to renew anything.” Agatha huffed, getting to her feet but refusing to be the one who went to him, he had kept her waiting and not the other way around. “What on earth could have been so pressing?”

“Oh, Sister many many things, but as of right now I cannot think of one that was worth the price. Come here beloved and I will show just how much I regret the delay.” Dracula retorted dragging his gaze up and down, licking his top lip as he practically salivated over his bride all dressed up and ready for him to ravish.

“Young man this is a house of god, we will have none of that behaviour here.” Mother Superior muttered, as there was no denying which gutter, even for a nun, just where their new arrival’s mind was.

“Oh, my good lady I very rarely behave myself.” Dracula added with a smile that could usually crack even the oldest and sternest facades.

“Yes, I can well believe it young man, men that look like you do very rarely have to.” Mother Superior added saucily, much to Agatha’s astonishment and Dracula’s delight. Dracula was so amused at being winked at by an elderly nun who is several centuries his junior, he was barely bothered by her interruption of their reunion and delay in his ravishment plans…his castle was relatively close and the things he wanted to do to Agatha required time and privacy.

Agatha was less than impressed by his retort, and lack of any sort of explanation or apology. Still she held her tongue until Mother Superior left them alone together, but if Dracula just thought he could walk in here and after four months….

“Ah so I’m still in the doghouse then.” Dracula took Agatha’s crossed arms and raised eyebrow as a challenge, winking back at the Mother Superior as she left, he stepped closer with the swagger of the devil.

“Would it help if I said I was very very sorry?”

“Hmmph…”

“Would it help if I got down on my knees?”

Dracula paused, dropping all too dramatically to his knees, his hands raised to the vaulted roof in supplication, yet he watched Agatha’s reaction closely, taking her barely contained roll of the eyes to mean that no it wouldn’t. Shuffling forward rather awkwardly on his knees, Dracula tried not to think about how these flagstones would be ruining his expensive Italian silk suit trousers.

“If I confessed all my sins and asked for absolution?”

Snorting Agatha shook her head, unable to contain a wry smirk as she retorted. “No one has that sort of time to waste.”

Returning Agatha’s smirk with a growing smile of his own, Dracula caught and held her gaze. “If I shouted that I love you and that I was a fool not to come sooner? For will, I will from this very belfry if…”

“Oh, get up you silly fool, no one in this town deserves to have their sleep disturbed by you and your silly shouting.” Agatha’s patience for his silliness and her own resolve to keep him at arm’s length finally at an end.

Staggering to his feet as ordered, Dracula’s shit eating grin turned soft as he closed the remaining paces between them. “Hello beloved, I have missed you.”, he said staring down to Agatha’s face, taking in the minute changes in her features, ones that only he would notice.

“You look pale, you haven’t been eating enough.” Dracula concluded, catching Agatha’s chin between his fingers. “Were you that worried I wouldn’t be coming for you?”

“Honestly your ego.” Agatha swiped his hand away from her chin but retained her grip on his fingers, part of her almost afraid he would vanish like some terrible dream. “Of course, I knew you would come; I’m just a little cross it seemed to take you so long.”

“I had good reason; I couldn’t risk bringing you back before I was certain it was safe.” Here Dracula paused, his gaze lingering on their surroundings. “And besides you seem to have found somewhere safe to hide away.”

“Yes…I…did.” Agatha emphasised every word with a jab to his chest, the unspoken no thanks to you, hitting home far deeper than any stake.

“I wanted to come every day, Agatha you have to believe that. Every day apart was agony for me.”

Part of her wanted to keep him dangling longer, to torment him the way not knowing had tormented her over the last few months. Yet the majority of Agatha now wanted to forget the past, to step into the love that was so openly on display. Slipping her hands up around his neck, Agatha allowed her relief to show on her face, blinking back the tears that threatened to break free.

“We forgive you.”

Smiling back Dracula leant forward, pressing first a chaste kiss to her upturned mouth, savouring the way Agatha smiled into it, then another light teasing kiss…before the niggle of a question irritated him enough to stop.

“We as in the royal we, or do you now speak on behalf of your almighty god my Darling?”

This time Agatha didn’t even try to contain her knowing grin from splitting her face, her eyes alight with the mirth of having a secret.

“I might advise you that hubris rarely ends well.” Dracula teased as Agatha’s mischievous reaction continued to pique his interest.

“Oh well I think I am empowered to speak on this entity’s behalf.” Agatha bantered back, savouring Vlad’s look of complete confusion. “We both love you very much you see…” She paused, sliding her hand down the firm plains of his chest, capturing his hand and bringing it to rest over the slight curve of her abdomen.

---/---

#dragatha #bbc dracula #dracula netflix #sister agatha #dracula fanfic

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atemoss · 4 years ago

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ICON CREDIT: @legendcrown and

HEADER CREDIT: @maternas and

PROMO CREDIT (NEW): @rgtag and

PROMO CREDIT (OLD): @maternas and

https://twitter.com/PIXELATEDCROWN/status/1058088751254114304/photo/1

https://pace-in-space.tumblr.com/post/668497150847729664/i-just-think-theyre-neat

Rules + Info!

Muse info below!

Kris

General

* They are in their teens, around 16 to be exact.

* They struggle with significant mental health issues, this struggle has spanned over quite some time and is known about by school staff. They often fall behind on basic maintenance, such as eating properly.

* They have a shaky school record, missing most days and falling behind on classwork are regular occurances with them. They receive help from teachers and students alike.

* They are often regarded by others as the creepy kid, interests and behaviors not aligning with most their age. Such as their running gag of spreading misinformation about humans to their impressionable acquaintances.

Vesselhood

* Their mindspace is shared between themself and an entity they know as the SOUL.

* While the SOUL can assume control over Kris and their actions, it’s control is not absolute.

* Kris has be able to SAVE all along, although the ability to LOAD and FILE HOP are ones they have only recently began to tamper with.

* While an unwilling participant, Kris did come to enjoy the company of Susie, Ralsei and Lancer.

* The cage is a regular punishment inflicted upon the SOUL whenever Kris feels stretched too thin, the entire ordeal with the Dark World being a bit too much even if some parts were enjoyable.

Family

* They undoubtedly love their mom, still clinging to her publicly regardless of their current age. She’s taught them many things, such as making pie, to which they have been banned for overindulging. She does her best to support them and they know it.

* Their dad, while a bit mixed on, is still loved by them. They worry for him in all honesty, seeing the state of his shop and how he lives. He’s also doing his best, not quite at the level where giant hugs are permitted, but around just below that.

* They love their brother very much, having been a lot better off when he was around. Asriel was always a good pushing force to get them going when they lagged but simultaneously able to empathize when a nudge just isn’t what they need.

* Kris took the family splitting really hard, the divorce sending their already less than ideal mental health down the gutter. When Asriel, their last support, left for college they truly went off the deep end. They had always felt inadequate, having been left by a human family they can’t even recall, now they feel as if they’ve ruined the only family they had left.

Friends

* While they knew friendly faces at school like Noelle and Catti, Kris never felt they’d truly stayed friends with either. They’re bad at maintaining friendships, dropping contact for months at a time without warning.

* They never expected Susie to warm up to them, fully prepared to take a beating and head home that day. It was an odd magic the SOUL worked, a little too much given how often it made Kris talk.

* Ralsei’s nature was and still is a mystery to them, though they know he means well. Over the course of their adventures, as he came to open up to Kris about his world and the heroes roll within it, they took his advice to heart.

* And then there’s Lancer, the little goof himself. Kris can’t say they didn’t warm up to him and his attempts to thwart them. They also couldn’t say they’d mind being absorbed into the bad guys club, but don’t tell Ralsei!

Susie

General

* Like Kris, she is in her teens. Around 16 to be exact.

* She has difficulty regulating her emotions, often lashing out at others verbally for perceived slights. This has painted her in a very bad light with her peers and faculty, being seen as nothing short of the school bully.

* There have been multiple attempts to refer her to a school counselor, none successful due to her inability to cooperate and the radio silence from her legal guardians. She insists she doesn’t need some stranger poking around in her head, she is completely stable and could definitely turn around at the drop of a hat if she wanted to!

Home

* Next to nothing is known about her home life, none of the others having ever seeing her parents before. They exist, she insists, but rumor has it she’s just found loitering around town after the school day’s over.

* She’s got a seemingly bottomless appetite, always chomping into strange things due to inadequate meals at home. She doesn’t stick around the place much, scaring whatever lunch money she can out of someone in order to hang at the local diner for dinner.

* Her clothes often need to be patched due to her tearing her sleeves with her teeth, she has a tendency to chew on things such as her claws/bottle caps/pens/etc.

Friends

* Although her initial attitude says otherwise, she truly does want friends. It’s just difficult, considering her poor socialization skills and the reputation she’s ranked up over the years. Being such a small town, there was no one to really start over with.. until the Dark World happened.

* Lancer, the little goof he is, was nothing but another impressionable dork she’d no doubt scare off to her at the beginning. When he began to grow attached, misconstruing her insults and threats as constructive criticism, she couldn’t help but grow soft for him. It was rather helpful that her alternatives were someone she was convinced already hated her (Kris) and someone who’s done nothing but critique her approach to things (Ralsei)

* Once she was able to admit to herself that she didn’t find ALL softies dumb, Ralsei worked his way into her spiky little heart. He’s fun to tease, incredibly patient, makes CAKES, and he’s goddamn adorable though you did not hear that from her.

* Kris was the last she warmed up to, having literally threatened them in the same day she wasn’t very hopeful they’d look forward to starting over anytime soon. Though, over the course of their adventure, she began to find they shared similar quirks. Namely, eating things they shouldn’t! She slowly grew accustomed to their irritating bouts of silence and general mannerisms. It wasn’t until they defended her from the King that she truly felt things had shifted for the better, an unmistakable act of care.

Magic

* Susie, being a monster, has magic of her own! Although she neglects to use it, due to it being hard to control.

* Her abilities are generally fire-based, being able to do things like shoot fire from her mouth, cause any naturally existing fires to flare, and being generally immune to the stuff.

* Her scales also have a hardening quality that makes spike puzzles a breeze, she is able to just walk over them. She can take quite a beating, the only real worries damange wise being her clothes or her hair.

* She can regrow limbs! Her tail is still in the process of regrowing after a rather silly accident cause it to be severed from the rest of her body.

#it appears you have reached an end. } ooc

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 5 years ago

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What the Water Gave Me

Happy holidays, @gryvon! And thank you to @stetersecretsanta for putting this all together!

You can also check it out here on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876028

A run in with a rusalka leaves Detective Stiles Stilinski with a crippling fear of the water. And help comes from an unexpected quarter.

Or, that time Stiles hates Peter Hale, right up until he doesn't.

What the Water Gave Me

“I don’t like him,” Stiles says.

“I don’t even know why you think your opinion matters here, kiddo,” John replies as he tips a jar of salsa into a serving dish because, yeah, that’s about as classy as things get around chez Stilinski. “This is my weekly poker game, and I can invite whoever I damn well please.”

Stiles growls.

He’s not proud of it, but he growls.

“By the sound of that, I’m not the one who’s been spending too much time hanging out with werewolves,” John says. “And you and Derek…?”

“Are me and Derek what?” Stiles asks, and then mentally backpedals. “No, don’t answer that. Me and Derek have never been and are never going to be a thing, okay?”

Stiles and Derek are bros. There was some awkwardness there when Stiles was pubescent and drowning in hormones, but he’s over it now. He’s not sure that Derek ever will be, because at the same time Stiles was at the mercy of his raging hormones he was also at the mercy of his raging nascent spark, and he might have maybe magicked all of Derek’s clothes off him this one time. To be fair to Stiles, it was a total accident, but Derek’s never really forgiven him. To be fair to Derek, it was in Whole Foods.

Not all of Stiles’s memories of his spark in those formative years make him laugh. Magic is... magic can be terrifying. As someone who lives with it in his bones, Stiles would rather not dwell on that. It’s much easier to think of Derek’s pale naked ass and chortle.

But no, Stiles and Derek are bros. Stiles likes Derek. He does not like his asshole of an uncle, Peter, with his expensive suits, his smirk, and his habit of looking at Stiles like he’s some sort of interesting and slightly gross scientific specimen: Gentlemen, the dung beetle.

And it doesn’t help that Peter Hale is Beacon Hills’ foremost attorney. Defense attorney. How John can even bear to have him in the house is a total mystery to Stiles. Peter’s life’s work is literally to screw John. In a professional way, not a fun one, because ew. Point is, Peter is the enemy.

His dad should not be inviting the enemy to poker games.

John lifts an unimpressed eyebrow at the expression on Stiles’s face. “Son, while you’re living under my roof—”

“Stop right there,” Stiles says, dragging a corn chip through the salsa. “I’m twenty-five years old, and the only reason I’m living under your roof is because you broke into my motel room and stole all my things.”

John snorts. “After I fought the cockroaches for them! That place was a fleapit, Stiles!”

“I had an aesthetic going on!”

He did, too. He was a weary jaded detective, all hard-bitten cynicism and jagged edges, living in the gutter and staring bleakly into the void while he listened to slow jazz on his phone. It was very emotive. Very noir. He’d been considering taking up smoking.

“An aesthetic? You had a fungal infection!”

Okay, so that’s technically true. But when Stiles had applied for the newly created detective’s position in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department after a few years in Sacramento, he was adamant that he would be coming back as an independent adult. Apparently though, that was not negotiable once his dad actually saw where he was living. So here he is, back living in his dad’s house like he’s a kid all over again, and although it’s nice not to have to worry about dying of cholera or whatever else was lurking in that motel, it hasn’t been without friction.

Like tonight, for example.

“How about this, then?” John asks, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “I don’t pull the ‘while you’re living under my roof ‘card and—”

“Deal!”

John fixes him with a challenging stare. “And you don’t tell me which friends I can invite over for poker night?”

Dammit. Stiles knows when he’s been stymied.

In a final act of petty revenge, he grabs the chips and salsa and flees upstairs.

He eats them in his childhood bedroom with the lights off, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that he put there when he was eight and listening to Dad and his friends—including Peter Hale—laughing and talking downstairs.

It’s no good.

Even Miles Davis and his Blue Moods album are never going to get Stiles’s fledgling noir aesthetic back now, are they?

The Yoda plushie on Stiles’s bookshelf gives him a look of wry agreement.

***

Stiles is the first detective in the Beacon Hills Sheriff’s Department to be Supernatural Certified. That means he knows his weird shit, basically, and has done the courses to prove it. It means that whenever a case can’t be explained away by the usual measures, it lands on his desk. Which means, in a town with a nemeton close by, that Stiles gets a hell of a lot of overtime. It’s routine stuff mostly, and not at all as dangerous as his dad worries. Most supernaturals are just regular people, after all, with a little extra going on, and Stiles can hold his own with a spark as strong as his. The long hours he works are great for the student debt he came out of school with, but not so great for his social life. As in, apart from catching up with Derek a few times a week for coffee, Stiles doesn’t have a social life.

Derek’s eyebrows judge him on a Tuesday morning as Stiles pours what might be an entire cup of sugar into his coffee.

“Look,” Stiles says, “I’m not saying I hate Peter, but why does he have to be such a smug asshole?”

“Weird,” Derek says and sips his tea. “He says the same thing about you.”

Stiles jolts. Peter talks about him? But also, wait. “He says I’m a smug asshole?”

Derek considers for a moment. “No, he says you’re a little asshole.”

“I’m not even smug?” Stiles gasps. “Does he think I’m not smart enough to be smug? I can be smug, Derek!”

“I am aware.”

Stiles glares at his coffee.

Peter Hale is the first werewolf he ever met. Well, not the first, since he’s known all the Hales forever, but he’s the first one he ever saw shift. Before that, werewolves existed for Stiles conceptually, but only like, say, Iceland did. It was a thing, and Stiles knew about it, but he’d never actually figured it was something he’d have to deal with on a daily basis. All that snow and herring, ugh.

Anyway, when Stiles was twelve and his spark manifested for the first time and some bad shit happened—there may have been explosions involved—suddenly a rampaging, slavering beast was charging right at him, tackling him to the ground while he screamed and the world erupted into flames around him.

And then, just when Stiles thought he was going to die, the rampaging, slavering beast turned into a naked man—which Stiles would like to point out was disturbing on a whole new level—and yelled, “Are you trying to burn down the whole fucking forest?”

And that was how Stiles found out that Peter—and all of the Hales—were werewolves.

He wasn’t brought into the circle of trust so much as he accidentally incinerated his way into it, because while people nowadays know that the supernatural is real, most supernatural beings prefer to keep their status to themselves.

Stiles has a bunch of files on his desk relating to what he suspects is hunter activity that show exactly why that’s still the case.

He tips more sugar into his coffee. “Anyway, how’s the rest of the pack?”

Derek’s resting bitch face softens into a smile. “Good. Cora and her girlfriend are thinking of moving back to the States. And Laura is expecting again.”

“Again?” Stiles blinks. “That woman is a baby machine!”

“And if you call her that,” Derek begins.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says. “My throat, her teeth, I know. What is this now though? Baby three?”

“And four,” Derek says. “Twins.”

“Jesus.” Stiles says. “We definitely need to take Patrick out drinking. Like in commiseration or something.”

“You mean in congratulation.”

“With twins on the way? I know what I mean.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “You know, some functioning adults actually treat children as a good thing.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “Maybe when you’re a functioning adult, you’ll understand.”

“Excuse you!”

Derek quirks a brow. “How’s Yoda?”

Stiles glares at him, and drinks his sugary sludge.

***

Stiles is halfway through lunch, brushing fallen lettuce from his burger off his open case files, when Tara leans into the bullpen. “Stiles? Hale’s here to see you.”

“Good,” Stiles says, leaping up and barging toward the door to the foyer. “He owes me an apology for this mor—”

It’s not Derek.

Of course it’s not. It’s Peter Hale, looking smug and sharp in a suit that probably cost more than what Stiles still owes in student debt. It’s pinstriped for fuck’s sake. Who wears pinstripes in Beacon Hills? Stiles is barely wearing a shirt with buttons. If it wasn’t for stupid regulations he’d be wearing a t-shirt. And his Converse.

“Detective Stilinski,” Peter Hale says smoothly, looking him up and down.

Stiles picks a piece of lettuce off his tie. “Mr. Hale.”

“I’d like to discuss a client with you.”

Stiles sighs, and holds the door open to let him through. He sets his burger down on his desk. “Which client?”

“Clare Stepanova,” Peter says.

Stiles rolls his eyes, grabs the file, and uses it to wave Peter Hale through to the nearest free interview room. He takes his burger too, because fuck it, he’s hungry.

Stiles takes a seat on one side of the table.

Peter takes one on the other side, and checks his reflection in the two-way glass. Does something to his already-immaculate hair, because he’s as vain as he is arrogant.

Stiles rolls his eyes and flips open the file on Clare Stepanova.

Clare Stepanova. Twenty-one years old—though Stiles doubts that—absolutely gorgeous, and a mouth on her like a Prussian sailor. Stiles wasn’t her arresting officer, but he definitely remembers being shocked by her language when Tara hauled her out the back to the cells. And it takes a lot of language to shock Stiles. Still, at least her curses weren’t literal. Stiles knows they could have been.

“Now how did Clare Stepanova afford an attorney like you?” he asks, leaning back in his chair.

“She has wealthy parents,” Peter says.

Stiles snorts. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Well, she has wealthy people who call themselves her parents, and were able to pay my retainer,” Peter says.

Stiles eats the rest of his burger and folds his arms over his chest. “What do you want?”

“I want you, as a Supernatural Certified detective, to go over her file.”

Stiles nods down at it. “Already did.”

“Then you’re aware that this isn’t a regular case.”

“Bullshit,” Stiles says. “She’s not a regular collar, but this is sure as shit a regular case. This isn’t a newly-bitten beta wolfing out on a full moon and breaking indecent exposure laws, or some wendigo kid slipping up and eating the neighbor’s cat. Clare Stepanova has no biological imperative to walk out of Sephora with $600 worth of cosmetics shoved down her jeans. Her being a rusalka has no bearing on this case.”

“Ah,” Peter says, his eyes lighting up for a moment.

“You didn’t know?”

“I got the vague impression of water,” Peter says. “Your spark has come a long way, it seems, now that you have it under control. Finally.”

One of Stiles’s most useful and valuable skills is his spark-given ability to know exactly what supernaturals he’s dealing with at a glance.

Kevin from the grocery store: fae.

Mrs. Iravani from the library: peri.

Clare Stepanova: rusalka.

Peter Hale: asshole.

“I would have expected,” Peter continues, “someone with a spark to have a little more empathy to the supernatural.”

Peter Hale: asshole.

Peter Hale: Grade A asshole.

“I have plenty of empathy,” Stiles says. “But until you can prove to me that rusalki need three different types of top-of-the-line lipstick and a bunch of other overpriced glittery shit to live, then I’m afraid I’m going to reserve that empathy for people who actually need it.”

Peter smiles slightly.

“I think we’re done here,” Stiles says. “I have reports to get back to, and you have to go and break it to your client that she’s shit out of luck.” He closes the file and rises from his chair. “Have fun with that, I guess.”

Peter doesn’t even have the decency to look slightly miffed at his wasted trip.

***

Stiles spends the rest of the afternoon writing a recommendation to the DA’s office for dropping charges in a case against a wiccan who was going sky-clad under the full moon last month. Mrs. McIntyre isn’t technically a supernatural—she has as much magic in her as you’d expect from your average elementary school teacher—so she doesn’t necessarily fall under Stiles’s purview, but she’s sixty-eight years old, never had as much as a parking ticket, and Stiles has incredibly fond memories of her back from when she was his third grade teacher.

It’s late when he gets out of work.

John has already left and gone home, but he sends Stiles a text asking him to pick up some milk, so Stiles swings by the gas station on the way home. He parks away from the pumps, wanders in to get the milk and whatever Skittles happen to catch his eye—four different packets do—and then heads outside again.

And steps immediately into a puddle.

Stiles groans and looks down. He doesn’t remember that puddle being there when he walked inside, and it’s not raining so where—

The water glistens in the light like an oil slick, and Stiles can’t tear his gaze away.

For a second he watches the colours, mesmerised, and then the truth of it hits him.

He can’t tear his gaze away.

He doesn’t want to, but also he literally fucking can’t.

His chest squeezes as fear grips him. He hears footsteps behind him, but he can’t tear his gaze away.

Feels soft, cool fingertips brush his cheek, but he can’t tear his gaze away.

He drops the milk and Skittles.

Feels the tickle of her hair against his face as she leans in, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

His phone. He needs…

He can’t make his hands move.

She smells like fresh water, like nature, like a cold, clear stream he wants to drown himself in.

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski,” she says.

Stiles stares at the colors in the puddle, and he can’t tear his gaze away.

And then her hands are covering his eyes, and everything goes black.

***

It’s dark when Stiles blinks away again.

He’s…

He squints into the gloom, but he doesn’t know where he is. He’s cold and wet.

He’s…

He’s been stripped down to his underwear, and he’s lying in about an inch or two of water. There are rough bricks underneath him, and…

Is he in a cellar?

He might be in a cellar. There’s a crack of light some distance away that might be a door? If it is, it’s some distance away and also higher than Stiles is, so he guesses there are stairs. It’s too dark to make them out though. There doesn’t appear to be any other light source.

Stiles shifts slightly, and the water tickles him.

It’s cold. Not shiver-to-death cold, but cold enough that hypothermia might become an issue. Does the light from under the door mean it’s daylight up there? When the temperature drops at night, the cold is definitely going to be a problem. If he lives that long.

If it’s daylight up there, has he already been here an entire night?

Dad must be looking for him then. Dad, and every cop from the station.

Stiles’s hand goes instinctively for his phone in his pocket, and only brushes against naked skin.

Underwear only, right.

He closes his eyes, not that it makes much difference, and reaches for his spark. It’s always there are the core of him, both hidden behind and intrinsically bound to his heartbeat. It’s—Stiles knows it sounds lame as fuck, but he’s always thought of it as his soul. Something uniquely him, but also something that’s not bound to his physical form. His spark encompasses so much more than bone and muscle and meat and, Stiles likes to think, it will last longer than those things too.

He finds it shining warmly behind his breastbone and he focuses on it.

If he can summon it, he can use it to—

And then the cold water is lapping at his skin, higher and higher, and Stiles opens his mouth to suck in a breath but he gets a mouthful of water instead. It rushes down his throat, suddenly a torrent.

Stiles flings himself upright, coughing and hacking, wiping at his mouth with his shaking hands.

The water recedes again, sliding down his skin like an icy caress. It leaves a shiver in its wake that Stiles feels through to his bones.

He doesn’t reach for his spark again.

***

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski,” Clare Stepanova says for the third time, or maybe the fourth, as Stiles chokes and coughs and tries to clear his lungs.

The water rises when she speaks, like tides pulled to the moon. And she’s beautiful, so beautiful, but she won’t let the water take him. He’s cold and he’s weak and he wants to sleep, wants to stop fighting the heaviness in his lungs, but she won’t let him go. She draws the water out of him with a flick of her wrist, her gold hair gleaming like moonlight in the gloom, and then she smiles and commands the water to drown him again.

The weight in his lungs is like lead. His head throbs. His chest aches. His heartbeat turns sluggish.

And then she pulls him back.

“Hello again, Detective Stilinski.”

Five times now, maybe six.

***

He’s lying on the floor, staring into the gloom. The water laps at his ears but he hasn’t got the strength to move. He’s going to die here. Every breath is harder than the last. Every one sounds like the wheeze of squeaky bellows. He’s going to drown in two inches of freezing water. He’s cold, he thinks, but he can no longer feel it. And his spark, that part of him he always thought of as indestructible, flickers on and off like a faulty lightbulb.

The water creeps up him again, icy fingers climbing his clammy skin, and a hot tear leaks out of the corner of Stiles’s eye and slides down his temple.

He’s going to die here.

And when the door crashes open and Stiles is blinded by the sudden blazing light, he thinks, for a moment, that’s what’s happened. And then there’s a dark shape moving down the stairs, and footsteps splashing toward him, and the roar of a werewolf fills the cellar room, and Stiles passes out.

***

“No,” John says firmly as Stiles blinks awake. He covers Stiles hand in his, and draws it away from the scratchy thing in his nose. “That’s your oxygen, kiddo. You need to leave that alone.”

Stiles squints at him.

His dad looks tired; about as tired and wrung out as Stiles feels right now. He’s sitting in a chair beside Stiles’s hospital bed, and he’s wearing a uniform that looks at least three days old, judging by the creases and what look like coffee stains down the shirt. His stubble’s about three days old too, and grayer than it should be.

Stiles pulls in a wheezing breath.

“You had pulmonary edema,” Dad says. “They’ve drained the water from your lungs, but you also have pneumonia, so that’s what’s causing you some issues now. You’re gonna be in here for a few more days before they’ll let me take you home.”

It’s a lot to take in, especially since Stiles can’t even remember for sure how he got here. His brow creases. “Clare?”

The name comes out like a croak.

John’s expression hardens into one of grim satisfaction. “Dead.”

Stiles tries to summon up a bit of feeling for that, but he’s mostly numb. Also, he’s mostly astonished that she was prepared to kill a cop over a shoplifting charge, but that’s the way of it with some supernaturals, isn’t it? Especially the old ones. Centuries of feeling superior to mundane and mortal humans tends to result in more than a few egotists who don’t see why they should be bound by human laws. Like vampires, for example. Total assholes who think they’re better than everyone else just because they saw Beethoven live in concert or whatever. Vampires are the fucking worst. Well, at least they were the worst, but for the record Stiles is going to shift rusalki up to the top of the list now.

He thinks back to the cellar. “Werewolf?”

John squeezes his hand and nods. “Peter.”

Stiles feels a jolt of surprise at that. For some reason he’d thought Derek, mostly because Derek is his best friend and has always had his back. Or maybe angry Talia, because she loves him like a mother. But Peter? Clare’s defense attorney Peter? Clare’s defense attorney Peter who thinks Stiles is a little asshole? Yeah, that’s definitely out of left field.

“The pack was tracking you the whole time,” John says. “Turns out that rusalki can hide scents. Who knew, huh?”

Well, Stiles knew. He’s done the course. But now isn’t really the time to bring it up.

“Anyway,” John continues, “Peter figured it might have been Clare, so he set up a meeting to talk about her case, and followed her after that. He was supposed to wait for backup, but, well…” He grimaces. “Apparently you didn’t have that much time left.”

Stiles sucks in another wheezing breath. “Wait… won’t he get in trouble? With the Bar Association or something?”

“Oh, son,” John says, and his mouth quirks. “If you think Peter Hale gives a flying fuck about the Bar Association, you really don’t know him at all. Besides, attorney client privilege doesn’t cover crimes in progress.”

He nods, and a rush of dizziness leaves him with black spots in his vision.

“Careful,” John says, with mild rebuke in his tone like Stiles has just tried to run a marathon, not nod. “You need to take it easy, kiddo.”

“Yeah,” Stiles rasps, and feels a sudden prick of tears in his eyes. He doesn’t even know why. He’s just… it’s all been too much, he guesses. Clare Stepanova tried to kill him, and he didn’t even fight back. He’s never had that happen before. And he knows it was because he was in her thrall, and he knows it wasn’t his fault, but he still hates that he made it so easy for her. Stiles has always been a fighter, oftentimes against all advice to the contrary, and it’s terrifying how Clare just shut down that part of him. Like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

Stiles was supposed to be stronger than that, smarter than that. He feels as helpless now as he did when the water was rushing into his lungs.

John squeezes his hand again, and Stiles summons up a weak smile for him.

And then Derek turns up with a massive blue teddy bear wearing an It’s a boy! ribbon from the hospital gift shop.

“You can put it with your Yoda,” he says, glowering at Stiles like Stiles’s near-death experience has personally offended him.

“I love it,” Stiles says, his voice still rasping, and opens his arms for a hug.

Both his dad and Derek get in there, and Stiles closes his eyes and feels warm again for the first time in days. And he wonders where Peter is right now.

***

It’s four days before Stiles is allowed to go home. He curls up in a blanket on his dad’s couch, and doesn’t move for hours. He stares unblinkingly at the television until John makes him move into the kitchen for dinner. Then, after they’ve eaten, John herds Stiles upstairs and toward the bathroom.

“You stink, kiddo,” John says.

“Way to pull your punches, Dad.”

“Get cleaned up and get in bed,” John tells him. “I’ll bring you your meds.”

Stiles shuts the bathroom door and strips off. Steps into the shower and…

He can’t turn the tap. The thought of water on skin is…

He can’t.

And he knows he should. He knows his dad is right. He stinks. And he knows the steam from a hot shower will be good for his pneumonia. But he just can’t bring himself to do it.

He steps back out of the shower and crouches down in front of the bathroom sink instead. Ferrets around in the cabinet until he finds a bunch of wipes, and cleans himself with those instead.

He’ll shower tomorrow.

***

Three days later, and Stiles is out of wipes. His skin is greasy, and his hair is an oily mess. He’s also got a gross scraggly excuse for a beard, but he can’t bring himself to shave. Not even when the blast of water in the kitchen sink, or the trickle of it through the coffee machine is enough to make him freeze up. He’s pretty sure they can smell him all the way downtown, because there’s only so much that deodorant can do. Spoiler alert: not much.

“Poker night tonight,” John says. “Want to join us?”

Stiles pokes his spoon at his cereal. “I’m good.”

John’s face is creased with worry. “Stiles,” he says, “what’s going on, kid? You’re…”

Decaying, Stiles thinks. Moldering. Something.

“Not yourself,” John finishes. “Do you need to talk to someone? A professional?”

“I’m tired,” Stiles says. “Once I get over the pneumonia, I’ll bounce back.”

John holds his gaze for a long moment, and then nods.

Stiles knows better than to think his dad is letting this go though. The Stilinskis are a stubborn bunch.

He waves his dad off to work, and dozes on the couch for most of the day. He’s jolted awake sometime in the afternoon when the door opens and footsteps tread down the hallway.

“Good lord,” Peter Hale says, looking at where Stiles is nesting like a rat on the couch, surrounded by blankets and junk food wrappers. “You smell like you’ve been dead for a month.”

Stiles grunts and shows him his middle finger. “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Please,” Peter says. “Your father and Derek would have been on my case for eternity if I hadn’t ripped that bitch’s throat out.” He grins and shows his teeth.

“Well, thanks anyway.” Stiles feels a sudden thrill at the thought of Peter wolfing out over him, and pretends he doesn’t. “How did you get in here anyway? Do you have a key?”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “As though I’d need a key.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. Peter is such an asshole.

Peter strides over to him, and wrenches his blankets off. “Come on. You’re a mess, and your father’s worried about you. So is the pack.”

Stiles allows himself to be bullied all the way upstairs and into the bathroom. He baulks when he sees the shower.

“Peter, I…” He can’t finish the sentence. He can’t admit his fear, even when he knows it’s etched into his skin, and written into every expression. Even when he knows he literally reeks of it.

“Shirt off,” Peter says. “And then sit on the edge of the bath for me.”

Peter’s no-nonsense tone is easy to obey, and it gives Stiles something to rail against. He’s grateful for both those things as he pulls his shirt off and grumbles about overbearing asshole werewolves getting all up in his business, and this is bullshit, Peter, bullshit.

The blast of water in the sink makes his blood run cold and freezes the words in his throat.

Peter squeezes out the washcloth under the tap, and then grabs the bar of soap from the shower stall. When he turns back to face Stiles, his expression is grim.

“I thought you were a corpse,” he says. “When I found you in that cellar. I could barely hear your heartbeat.”

Stiles hunches over and looks away.

Peter crouches down in front of him. He takes Stiles wrist in his hand, and draws his arm out straight. Stiles shivers when Peter drags the warm washcloth from his shoulder to his wrist. “You scared me, Stiles.”

There’s no hint of rebuke in his tone. There’s only something softer than that; an admission, not an accusation.

“Scared me too,” Stiles murmurs.

Peter scrubs the soap along the washcloth, and then drags the cloth down Stiles’s arm again, leaving foamy bubbles in its wake. “So scared you can’t even face the thought of a shower?” He pinches the skin on the back of Stiles’s hand, and the mark doesn’t vanish. “So scared you’re letting yourself go dehydrated?”

Stiles nods, his eyes stinging with shame and helplessness.

“She’s dead,” Peter says, his blue eyes shining. “She’s dead, and she can’t hurt you now.”

“I know,” Stiles rasps. “I know that, but…”

“But you don’t feel it,” Peter says, and hums slightly. “You know what you need, Stiles?”

“A therapist?”

“Well, possibly.” Peter smiles slightly. “But in the meantime would you settle for an amoral and slightly sociopathic werewolf by your side who’d tear out the hearts of your enemies if they even looked at you sideways?”

Stiles should be embarrassed at how long it takes him to get that. “But you hate me.”

“Nonsense,” Peter says, and swipes the washcloth over Stiles’s collarbone. “You are the thorn in my side and the pebble in my shoe, Stiles, but I’ve never hated you.”

“Really?”

“Do you think I break into the houses of people I hate and give them sponge baths?”

Stiles blinks. “No. That would be weird. I mean, this is weird enough, but that would be super weird.”

Peter’s laugh is low and full of warmth. He rises to rinse the washcloth out, and then he’s back, lifting Stiles’s other arm up and washing it gently. Stiles feels almost dizzy at the touch. He feels weak and helpless, but a part of him melts into this too. The part of him that wants to be cared for, wants to be allowed to need this without judgement.

Stiles is pretty sure he’ll judge himself harshly enough for this at a later date, but that’s a problem for future Stiles.

He closes his eyes and lets it happen. Drifts for a while on the feeling of being looked after.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Peter says softly. “Take the rest off.”

It should be humiliating, probably, but Stiles is floating from Peter’s touches, so he lifts his hips and lets Peter pull his sweatpants down and off. The hospital sponge baths were perfunctory and clinical; this is not. This feels almost like an act of quiet worship, and Stiles might be drunk on it.

“Good boy,” Peter murmurs, and Stiles melts a little more.

He’s zoned out enough that he can almost pretend the careful swipe of the warm washcloth over his dick and balls doesn’t happen. Almost. But by the time he jolts and his eyes flash open, Peter has already moved on to his thighs. He finishes up at Stiles’s feet, and Stiles toes curl at the slight tickle.

Peter smiles up at him, and then stands. “Now how about your hair, sweetheart? You look like a weasel dipped in oil.”

Stiles snorts. There’s the asshole he knows and… knows. There’s the asshole he knows, period, full stop, and nothing further to add.

Peter’s expression turns serious. “It needs a wash, Stiles. Do you think you could handle some water through it, if I’m here?”

Stiles’s heartbeat quickens, and he’s afraid that it he so much as blinks he’ll be back in that cellar, water rushing into his throat and drowning his screams.

“I have an idea,” Peter says, and then disappears from the bathroom. He’s back a moment later, wheeling Stiles’s computer chair with him. “Let’s do this salon style.”

He flings a clean pair of sweatpants at Stiles, and Stiles climbs into them. Then he sits on the chair, and Peter wheels it back toward the sink. It’s not quite the right height, but Peter pillows a rolled-up towel under the back of his neck, and folds a dry washcloth over his forehead.

“I’ll do my best to keep the water off your face, hmm?”

Stiles nods. He wants to close his eyes, but he doesn’t dare.

It’s… it’s not as bad as he was afraid it would be. The tickle of water on his scalp makes his skin crawl, and makes him want to leap out of the chair, but Peter works quickly and calmly, and his fingers massage Stiles’s scalp deftly.

“What do you know about this Braeden person?” he asks.

“Which Braeden person?”

“The incredibly attractive and intimidating woman that Derek has fallen head over heels for,” Peter says. “I like her, but on the other hand I feel like I shouldn’t approve.”

“Because she’s very possibly a mercenary?” Stiles asks curiously.

“No, I think that’s hilarious,” Peter says. “You should see Talia’s face! I just feel like I shouldn’t approve because, well, I like to make Derek squirm.”

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles says.

Peter catches a trickle of water before it escapes the washcloth on Stiles’s forehead. “He’s my nephew. It’s my job.”

“It’s really not.”

Peter shrugs. “Well, we’ll agree to disagree. Now, want me to attack that abomination you call a beard? No water, sweetheart. Just shaving cream and a washcloth.”

Stiles nods warily. “Just… just keep talking, okay?”

Peter smirks. “I’m a lawyer, Stiles. That was never going to be an issue.”

***

When it’s done, all of Stiles’s doubts and insecurities come rushing back in. He’s clean and he’s shaved, but at what cost? Peter Hale saw him naked, and not just naked, but a whole other level of nakedness than Stiles is comfortable with. Peter didn’t just see his skin; he saw his vulnerability. Somehow Stiles knows that’s the thing that’s going to be hardest to reconcile.

He sits on his bed and stares out the window, and wonders if tomorrow he’ll be able to actually brave a shower, or if he’s going to be scared of water for the rest of his life. Which would be fine, if it was swimming in the stuff. But showering? Doing the laundry? Hydrating? These aren’t optional activities.

Stiles sighs, and grabs his laptop off his desk, and queues up an episode of Star Trek. Why aren’t sonic showers a thing yet? They need to be a thing.

The knock on his door doesn’t really surprise him.

“Come in, Peter.”

Peter opens the door. He’s holding a glass of orange juice.

“Shouldn’t you be downstairs playing poker with my dad and all his friends?”

Peter ignores the question and sits next to Stiles. He sets the orange juice down on his bedside table. “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot, Stiles.”

“What, when you broke into my house without a key?” Stiles grouses.

“No,” Peter says. “When you were a twelve-year-old with a newly manifested spark, and I scared the hell out of you.”

Stiles feels the faint echo of that fear as he thinks back to that day. And what a hell of a day it was. “To be fair, I was exploding the forest at the time.”

Peter nods. “True. But still, I feel that being lunged at by a werewolf was probably quite traumatizing.”

“It was actually more traumatizing when I saw your dick,” Stiles says. “Werewolves, that was totally out of left field. But naked men jumping on me? Dad had warned me about how dangerous those were.”

Peter’s eyebrows do something complicated. It’s a Hale trait. “You thought I was a child molester?”

“Not for long! But, in my defense, you were a naked man who jumped on me. I was twelve, Peter. There wasn’t a lot of nuanced thought involved!”

“Well,” Peter says at last, “When it comes to nakedness, I suppose that we’re even now after today, sweetheart, aren’t we?”

There’s a strange weight in the air as Stiles avoids Peter’s gaze, and he thinks it’s all in the way he just said the word ‘sweetheart’. Usually Peter uses the word like it’s a sharp weapon, but now—and ever since he walked into the house this afternoon, if Stiles is honest—there’s no barb in the word at all. It sounds almost…

Almost real.

“Peter,” he asks cautiously, lifting his gaze again, “do you like me?”

“Yes,” Peter says.

“I mean, not because I’m pack adjacent, and Derek’s best friend, and Talia refers to me as the son she always wanted, but like-like, like—”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Peter says, and rolls his eyes. “Yes.”

This is the part where they should fall into a kiss, right? Stiles reaches for Peter, only to find a splayed hand on his chest.

“Nu-uh-uh,” Peter says. “Not until you drink your juice, sweetheart.”

Well, Stiles guesses, there’s some incentive.

He drinks his juice.

***

Stiles narrows his eyes at the bottle of water on his desk. He’s been back at work for three days now, and he’s mostly a lot better, but still not a total fan of this whole hydration business. It’s a shitty thing to develop a trigger over, but he’s working on it. He’s downloaded an app on his phone that reminds him when to drink, so he’s no longer got an excuse to avoid it. Also, his therapist prescribed him a shitload of Ativan, so that’s pretty sweet.

“Stiles?” Tara calls from the door. “Hale’s here to see you.”

Stiles leaps up from his desk, anticipation bubbling through him. Peter promised to bring him lunch, and he’s been counting down the minutes. Not because he gives a fuck about the new fusion place on Third that Peter’s been raving about, but because, well, Peter. Peter has been visiting Stiles every day, both at work and at home, checking that he’s functioning. They’ve got into a weird pattern now where when Stiles showers, Peter sits in the bathroom and talks to him. It should feel humiliating, but it doesn’t. And Peter isn’t even a jerk about it. He’s still a jerk about everything else, but, well, that’s Peter. It turns out that there’s just a lot more to him than that asshole exterior. As embarrassing as it is to admit it, Stiles might actually be in love.

Ugh. He has taste in his ass.

But so does Peter, probably, so it all works out.

And frankly, Stiles can’t wait for the day when showering with Peter means something a whole lot more sexy than their current arrangement.

He wrenches the door open. “Hey, Peter, I—motherfucker.”

Derek blinks at him.

“It’s always the wrong Hale,” Stiles says. “Every damn time.” He plasters on a smile. “Hey, Der-bear. It is great to see you!”

“Clearly,” Derek deadpans. “Anyway, Mom wanted me to remind you that it’s pack dinner this Friday, and she expects to see you there. And she said she’s making extra cookies so you can take a bunch home, and not try to smuggle them out in your pockets like last time.”

“She can’t prove that ever happened.”

“Stiles, your jeans smelled like chocolate for days. You should do your laundry more often.”

“You’re not actually supposed to wash your jeans after every wear.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “You are if they have chocolate in the pockets.”

“Point,” Stiles admits.

“See you Friday,” Derek says, and claps him on the shoulder before leaving.

Stiles heads back inside to the bullpen—and discovers Peter sitting at his desk, his fancy Italian ankle boots resting on Stiles’s open files. He’s eating something from a takeout container. It smells fucking orgasmic.

“How the hell did you get in here?” he demands. “Did you break into a police station?”

Peter smirks. “I brought you lunch, sweetheart. Let’s not quibble over the details of why, and how, and whether or not it’s really an indictable offence.”

“Someone let you in the back door, didn’t they?”

“Your father,” Peter admits. “I met him in the parking lot.”

Stiles leans his ass on his desk. “You’re such a dick,” he said fondly.

Peter shrugs, and nudges Stiles’s water bottle closer to him. “Takes one to know one.”

“Touché.” Stiles takes a sip of his water, trying not to grimace, and Peter rubs his knee gently in silent encouragement. Then Stiles steals his takeout and starts shoveling it into his mouth. “When I finish this, want to go make out in the file room?”

“Sweetheart,” Peter says with a broad grin, “I can’t think of a better way to spend my day.”

And how weird is Stiles’s life now? Because it turns out that neither can he. He wouldn’t say he’s grateful to Clare Stepanova—fuck that evil bitch—but Stiles knows that if he hadn’t been attacked, he and Peter would still be bitching about each other to their families, and snarking at each other when they met, and both of them dancing around the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was a spark of something between them that wasn’t sheer contempt. And, since they’re both such assholes, they would have died of old age before admitting it.

So there’s an upside, Stiles guesses. A crazy weird upside to being drowned repeatedly by a rusalka, and it turns out it’s the bastard of a werewolf pointedly nudging Stiles’s water bottle toward him again.

When Stiles had come back to Beacon Hills, he’d tried to like the idea of being alone. Romanticized it even, in that gross fleapit of a motel where he pretended to be a hard-bitten cynical film noir detective. But it turns out Stiles isn’t that kind of guy at all.

The corners of his mouth turn up as Peter nudges the water bottle against his thigh. Stiles picks it up and sips from it, and Peter makes a smug, satisfied noise.

It turns out it’s nice to be cared for after all.

#my fics #what the water gave me #steter #stetersecretsanta2019 #discontentedwinter

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studiopoprocks · 5 years ago

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Whenever you get to it... fluff alphabet with shoto? Maybe? Please? 💜💜

Todoroki Shoto Fluff Alphabet

A - Affection (How do they show how much they care in their day to day lives)

It’s pretty obvious that Shoto hadn’t really been shown any sort of affection before you. But once this boy gets some, he’s addicted. He’s almost always touching you in some way get your mind out of the gutter. From hand holding, to cuddling, Todo will be beisde you, and enjoying the fact you’re with him. He always makes sure to tell you that you’re his angel, and that he loves you. It’s the little thing that count.

B - Before (How did they act before the relationship/ what was the relationship like?)

Met at a hero’s gala, and snuck out together. You both agreed that whenever you’re dragged along with your pro parent, you’d met up. Usually ending up in deep conversations, in the middle of a big fancy garden. You both kept your distance physically, before you actually got into a relationship, but emotionally; you’ve always had a deep convection.

C - Comfort (How they act when their S/O is sad)

Now you’d assume he is completely clueless on this type of thing. WRONG! This boy can tell the moment you start to feel down, instantly going in for a hug. But if that doesn’t work, or he finds you crying he’ll go through his mental checklist. Firstly wrapping you up in any nearest blanket, hugging you while wrapping it around your frame. Then wraps his arms around you while you burry your face in his neck. Boy would never force you tell him whats wrong, but will always listen and offer his advice if you want him to.

D - Dawn (What are mornings like?)

Always wake up together. Even if one of you has to get up earlier. You take turns making breakfast if it’s the weekend, but it’s usually more like lunch beacause any days off you get is spent cuddling in bed, watching whatever is on TV. Once he becomes a Pro though, you’ll absolutely refuse to get out of bed at 4:30am, but you’ll always wake up to talk and kiss him goodbye.

E - Embarrassed (How does their S/O make them flustered? How do they return the favour?)

(This was a specific request so I’m going to make it longer)

Shoto has a very stoic face, however it’s easy to tell when he’s flustered, just examine his quirk. When you first started talking, he refused to left you hold his right hand. Due to the fact that you had unexpectedly grabbed it once, and he almost ended up burning your delicate skin. Anything could make him fluster and act up. Conpliments, PDA, kisses, even you just acting cute. (Strangely he doesn’t get flustered with hugs) it’s kinda funny to watch the boy accidentally light his shirt on fire, or end up encasing his hand in ice. On the opposite side though, he returns the favour ten fold. He doesn’t mean to, he’s so blunt that it doesn’t register to him that it might make you flustered. He’ll say things like ‘I live for you, you’re the reason I want to get up in the morning’ out of complete nowhere! He has a bad habit of doing it at fan signings, cuz he’s getting so many questions about your relationship. ‘My favourite thing about her? Obviously everything.’ Complete and utter straight face the entire time. That doesn’t mean to say that he doesn’t enjoy you’re super cute blushing face, or how you get when you’re flustered.

F - First date (Were did you go and what did you do for your first date together)

You never had an official ‘first date’ due to meeting at hero galas. However, the day you two started dating was kinda like it. It had only been a few weeks since school started, but here you were at another gala. Shoto had quickly found you, walking with you to the garden, not too far from the hall. The music was so loud that you could hear it all the way from outside, but it just added to the ambience. Of course you had snuck food from the hall, making yourself a a makeshift picnic under the starts. It was calming, and you even slow danced at one point, laughing as you enjoyed each other’s company.

G - Gentle (How Gentle are they with their S/O? Or do they like to rough house with them?)

Shoto genuinely believes you are made out of porcelain. Yes, he knows you can handle yourself, but he’s still not risking anything. One of his worst fears is turning into his father, which includes being rough with his s/o. He will still train with you, without holding back, but you best be ready for him to check every inch of your skin afterwards.

H - Habit (What do they repeatally do in the relationship?)

Todo has this habit of always making sure you’re at a comfortable temperature. It stems from always wanting to look after you, and plus if you need an adjustment, he would happily cuddle you to the right temperature. If he notices a small shiver, he’ll instantly offer up his jacket. If you start sweating, boi is already looking up the nearest ice cream store. But nothing works better then him regulating your temperature himself.

I - Intreating (What do they find fascinating about their S/O? And vise versa?)

It’s kinda sad, but a big draw to you was because you totally excepted him dispite all flaws or scars. He find it so amazing how when even talking about villains, you never talk negatively about looks, or thing that they can’t control. Only about their crimes or morals. He cherishes how you look beyond the surface, and wonders how he got so lucky.

J - Jealousy (How easily do they get jealous, and how do they deal with it)

Now Todoroki doesn’t get jelouse. Let me rephrase that; Todoroki is good at hiding that he’s jealous. He completely trusts you, and knows you wouldn’t cheat on him. He’ll let you deal with any clingy fans, HOWEVER if he notices that you need help. RIP to whoever is crushing on you. Will come up right beside you, left arm protectively over your shoulder. That’s around the time any creep starts noticing the ice creeping up their leg. ‘Something you wanna say to MY girlfriend?’ Que death glare until they leave.

K - Knick Knack (A random momento they still have from their S/O)

You had accidentally left one of your favourite mugs at Shotos, and of course he used it every chance he got. In until he broke it. He had felt horrible, but told you right away, after cleaning up the mess. Dispite his knowledge though, you had glued it back together and painted gold along the cracks. The reason being: ‘I read somewhere that people repaire broken objects with gold, showing how it adds to the beauty of it’ of course you count use it to drink, but it turned into a plant pot. Along with his favourite thing in his room.

L - Location (Favourite place to go on dates)

Loves taking you to do nature related things. His go to is a clearing that looks over the city, you’ll often have picnics there, then stargaze for a bit. It’s quite nice, and not too far from his place. His sister had shown it to him when he was younger, and he went there to clear his mind every so often. So now he clears his head with you, a win win for both of you because he makes the best picnics!

M - Movie (What cliché movie trope has actually happened in the relationship?)

You ever see those movies where everyone is at a big dance, but everyone is wearing masks? Two strangers (who actually know eachother) meet, and dance the night away. Well this happened to the clueless pair of you. You guys basically confided in eachother, telling one another about the crush developing for each other. Both only realizing it the next time you saw eachother, promising to wear the same outfit as last time. XD

N - Nickname (What do they call their S/O?)

Names he calls his S/O:

‘Snowflake’ doesn’t mean it in a weak sort of way.

‘My love’ often used around Endeavor

‘Beautiful Star’ refers back to the first date thing.

Names his S/O calls him:

‘Cuddle bug’ cuz boi is touch starved.

‘My other half... and half’ started off as a joke, due to Bakugo. Ultimately it ended up as a reoccurring name of affection.

O - On Cloud Nine (How they act when they are in love/ Is it obvious to everyone around them?)

Todoroki is a very stoic person, so it’s not very obvious. Heck, half the class didn’t even realize you two were dating, until Shoto started getting protective of you due to something Mineta said. But once they knew, it became so obvious. He would follow you around, making sure you were okay after every training session, and even genuinely smile on a daily basis. You’re both super attentive to eachother, and seemed to always be holding hands!

P - PDA (Do they like showing off their s/o, or are a little shy to kiss in public)

Probably the most you’ll get is constant hand holding. He likes knowing your always beside him, and vise versa. Usually fingers interlaced, on Shoto’s right side, for two reasons. 1. Your hands won’t get clamy due to the cold, and 2. Because he can’t always control his fire when his emotions act up. However if for some reason you have to go, he’ll hold your conjoined hands up to his heart and say his goodbye. Maybe giving your forehead a kiss on special days.

Q - Quirk (A random ability they have, that’s helpful in a relationship)

Todoroki has this amazing ability to talk everything out with you. He hates fighting due to his childhood, so he always makes sure everything is out in the open. As to not have any misunderstandings EVER. He will and wants you to open up about everything from incecurities, to every bit of your day. Too many problems have come through miscommunication, and he isn’t about to allow your relationship to do the same.

R - Rearly (Something they love to do, but it doesn’t happen often)

Absolutely loves ice skating with you! But specifically on Christmas Eve, with all the lights and songs surrounding you both. He wouldn’t let go of your hand, and is constantly heating you up with his quirk. Sneaky boy heats up his lips, in hopes you’ll kiss him more. (First Christmas together he gave you your gift in the middle of the frozen ice)

S - Special (Something that only them and their S/O do together)

After the first month of dating, Shoto started bringing you to see his mom. You’re kind heart reminded him so much of Rei, and honestly he though you two should meet because you’re going to be apart of the distinctional family. He seems to feel a lot more at eas when you’re there, so it’s turned into a personal thing you do together.

T - Together (How often do they spend time with their S/O?)

Not enough! Between school or hero work, you bearly get anytime to yourselves. You always make a point of having date night, but sometimes due to how hard the week was: date night becomes movie + cuddle night. Of course you always fall asleep together, but half the time one of you is already passed out before the other gets home.

U - United (In which way does the relationship become a whole? Marriage?)

Basically once you’ve become part of the family. Weekly visits to see his mom, helping his siblings out with various things, and even standing up to Endever. (Also is that a patchy guy in the shadows smiling at you?) if this boy had opened both his heart and his family up to you, you best believe a ring (thx to dads credit card) is coming your way.

V - Value (What do they treasure the most in their relationship?)

Shoto values the time you spend together so much! It’s rare that you two have more then a day to spend together, so he’s going to make the most out of it. Expect to do 5 or more things in the day, and be joined at the hip for the majority of it. On the off chance that you both end up haveing the weekend off together, Todo is already booking flights. It’s usually a last minute type thing, but hey, who would pass up a trip to Tokyo with their boyfriend?

W - Wish (What do they hope will come from the relationship?)

He wants the chance to be better. He wants to be the best husband (and hopefully father) in the world. He’s never had a very good family life, and honestly he wants one. Especially one with you, because duh, you’d make a great wife! (And maybe mom) and hey if you decide you don’t want kids, then he’s totally fine with that, as long as you get him a pet.

X - XOXO (Favourite types of kisses and hugs)

Shoto is a sucker for curling up in your lap, while you run your fingers through his hair. He’ll hug your waist as you massage the days stress away. That combined with a sleepy goodnight kiss, this boi would die happy and content. He tends to get nightmares, but your goodnight kisses scare them away. Without you, he honestly doesn’t sleep well.

Y - Yearning (How do they cope when they're missing their partner?)

Originally, he was totally okay for the first day or two. But this boy didn’t realize how genuinely touch starved he was, especially without you. Calls every day, just to say hi and that he misses you. Will surround himself in your stuff, and gifts you’ve given him. Stole back his sweater just because it smelt like you. When you finally return, he won’t leave your side for the whole day.

Z - Zeal (Will they go great lengths for the sake of the relationship? What kind?)

Todo would empty his fathers entire bank account for you. He’s willing to to almost anything you ask of him, because he believes that you deserve it. It’s kinda funny when you ask for something small, and he takes it to a whole new level. You ask him to cook more often because you’re busy, he just signed up for a chef class. Ask him to open up about what he’s dealing with? He will sit down right there and let you comfort him. He respects your wishes, and enjoys when you ask him for stuff, because you should be able to lean on eachother anytime.

#fluff alphabet #todoroki fluff #fluff #bnha x reader #headcanon x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto todoroki #reader #boku no hero headcanons #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my hero fanfic

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yogaadvise · 4 years ago

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5 Step “Past-Memories” Meditation to Banish Memories that Cripple Motivation

Negative memories always have a method to drag any individual down. You intend to be as productive as possible, yet you just can't seem to carry on. You are maimed and also dropping deeper and also deeper into a bottomless pit that is difficult to creep out of.

The mind can be an extremely powerful tool in completing objectives with simplicity. You just need to discover to regulate your mind that typically manages you with heartfelt memories as well as emotions that seem excruciating.

This is the trouble for most individuals aiming toward their goals.

The results of unmanageable, emotionally debilitating memories:

- Your confidence diminishes into the gutter.

- You browse for excuses when it concerns pursuing your goals, for you assume you are mosting likely to fail.

- You really feel caged in your current scenario, with no means out.

- You start to develop depressive thoughts.

- You offer up on aiming towards a life that you can be pleased of.

The list goes on.

It's time to do something about it. It's time to knock down those god terrible memories constructing a wall surface in between you as well as success.

Listed below I am going to share a 5 Action meditation that will certainly assist break open the cage, and also set your adverse past-memories totally free. However initially, allow me state all the benefits of this reflection ...

The advantages of the 'past-memories' meditation:

- You will certainly concentrate a lot more on the here and now moment than dwelling in the past.

- Your confidence will improve.

- You will certainly come to be an objective driven person.

- Your life will certainly improve in general.

- You will emit with positivity and also a will to do well.

Now that you recognize all the advantages this meditation has to use, it's time to get to the real reflection.

5 Action 'Past Memories' Meditation:

Find an area where you will certainly not be disturbed. Make certain to be as comfortable as feasible. Exercise this reflection by sitting or existing down.

Close your eyes and also concentrate on your breath. Breathe in and exhale deeply. Really feel the activity of your chest as you drop much deeper right into relaxation.

Think about the heart felt memory that has the most influence on your life. Imagine yourself enjoying the experience through a substantial glass window. Really feel the feelings connected with that memory. Attempt to make the visualization as vibrant as possible.

Now that you've imagined the previous experience, the fun part begins. See yourself holding a big sledge hammer. Network all those developed up feelings into that hammer. Give it one large swing toward the home window. See your memory smash into little items of glass as you go on moving. Maintain on swinging up until there is nothing left.

Feel the tranquility as well as sense of accomplishment as you look down at the shattered glass. Know that there are no obstacles that can stand in your way. Whenever you are all set, open your eyes feeling eased, objective driven as well as confident.

Practice the given meditation every early morning or night for concerning fifteen minutes. This is my own personal mediation that aided me in controlling the darkest edges of my mind.

Take activity and control your mind, escalate your confidence and also make every effort towards success. Life is a remarkable trip, filled with twists and also turns. You have to make a decision whether the weaves lead you, or the various other way around.

#meditation #pilates #yoga #yoga poses

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numba99 · 6 years ago

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Birth Chart Breakdown: Mat Barzal

ayooo y’all know I love astrology so I am going to be breaking down NHLers birth charts (just their personal placements) as a way to get an insight to their personality. While I obviously can’t say this is 100% how he or anyone is I WILL say everyone I’ve done this for in real life has said it very accurate so do with that what you want. Alright let’s get this shirt started

Sun in Gemini (sun= general sense of self) As a Gemini sun, Mat is someone who is hard to nail down. Geminis are incredibly adaptable. I like to say they are the types to be everything to everyone all at once. He’s probably very good at adjusting to the people he’s with and the environment he is in. He is easy to get along with because of this. However, the flip side is it is hard to really get to know his true personality. He may struggle to let his walls down and show people who is. Emotions aren’t easy for Geminis, they often will try to look at things critically and make sense of their emotions rather than feel them. There are positives and negatives to this, but it can make him appear detached.

As a solar Gemini he is gonna need lots of stimulation head out of the gutter people but seriously there is nothing worse than boredom for a Gemini. Loves learning, but probably is more of a jack of all trades and master of none type. He just craves he constant newness too much to stick to any one thing for too long (except hockey apparently lol but the constant travel of hockey is probably super good for him). Going off this, he definitely likes to keep things light in his life. People who are way to deep in their feelings would probably frustrate him. He’s just trying to have a good time man, and he 100% will never leave you bored.

also cool to mention the positioning of his sun (trying not to get too deep and confuse people just take my word for it) suggests someone who will have a public life and is very popular.

Moon in Aquarius (moon= emotions) This is another placement that is not going to be super emotional. I’m not saying he doesn’t feel emotions because literally everyone does it is just a matter of how we express it. However, air signs, like aqua, are so much more analytical than emotional. This can be an odd fit for a moon placement, since the moon is all about emotion. So again, Mat is going to have his emotions take the back seat. He may feel a little out of place with others?? Like he doesn’t necessarily feel things like other do? It could be a bit of disconnect for him. Like he is trying so hard to keep himself regulated that it may come off as robotic to others.

He has a strong need for independence. The really value personal freedom and will need a partner who can understand that. Give him this and you have his loyalty for life. Despite not going too deep into his own emotions he can super of thoughtful of others. Aquarius energy tends to support the whole over the individual. Mat is going to wanna help the little guy and doesn’t leave people. Definitely the type to fight for what he believes in and is super stubborn about it.

Mercury in Taurus (mercury = communication) Hard fucking head. This man has never changed his opinion on something in his life. But he is careful about how he delivers his thoughts. Not that he is shy about what he thinks, but because he knows there is an art to an argument. And he definitely loves a good argument from time to time. Also a work smarter not harder type.

Venus in Gemini (venus= love/relationships) Again Gemini placements need stimulation. If you’re looking to date Mat for the love of god do not let him get bored. He will skrt so fucking fast. Commitment is not his strong suit. And that is not saying that he is cheater or anything like that. He just won’t be quick to jump into a relationship. Like the idea of just having a routine with someone does not appeal. Definitely would not like an overwhelming lover. He needs things to feel fun and interesting or he probably won’t be around for long. Will definitely be into someone who is smart/that see as someone that can teach them things (definitely magnified by the gemini sun placement we talked about!!). He will be a super exciting lover, though.

With the specific placement of his venus, relationships are very important to him. He can be super passionate with the right person. Probably prone to love/hate relationships and likes competitiveness in relationships. Again, things that are keeping it fun and fresh,

Mars in Virgo (mars= action, desire) Super goal oriented and hard working. He can be a little over critical at times! But like he’s not super aggressive about it and it is coming form a place of just wanting things to be done right. And they have a very particular way of doing things. Again, this is becoming a common theme, but he needs to be doing something. He gets a sense of purpose through doing things so when he’s idle it is super easy for him to go stir crazy. He’s a perfectionist and wants to be good at what he does. This extends to the bedroom. For virgo mars’, it is all about their partner. They get satisfaction off getting their partner off. Highkey the type to just be like fucking use me for your pleasure. The man aims to please

My overall impressions: Mat. needs. space. Do not try to cage this man. Personal freedom is so so important to him. It’s not that he’s never going to settle down, but he’s going to need someone that can give him space, if you’re clingy it’s just not going to work. I could see relationships being difficult for him because of having so many placements that aren’t super emotional leaning. Like a potential partner may not be able to gauge how he really feels which could be frustrating. I do think when he finds someone, he’d be loyal to that person. But, again, he’s going to need to try new things. Traveling with him or planning cool/different dates would definitely win him over. I DO think he would benefit from someone who is good with emotions. Helping him open up without like making it feel forced will help a lot and probably help him connect to that person on a deeper level. He values intelligence, probably can talk your ear off and will have a dry witty sense of humor.

#feedback would be cool #do you guys like this?#who would you wanna see next #astro asks #mat barzal #m barzal #islanders #new york islanders #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal blurb

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mrneglesworth · 3 years ago

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Chase Within

Happiness First

Helping People Help Themselves

I have always tried to place a lot of focus on my own personal mind. My intentions and reality haven’t always matched up very well. I have learned that is ok. My thinking noodle, my brain, my mind. My feelings and emotions. The balance of emotions and thoughts and actions make up my well-being. I try to be purposeful with my actions based on the thought/emotion balance. My actions, however, haven’t always matched my reality.

I have ADHD. I also have blue eyes and all ten toes. My left pinky toe is a hammer toe though. I don’t know if it’s the end of the chain or beginning of my tight neck, shoulders, and back. But my ADHD, it’s a lot like my back pain. You can’t see it, but it plays a large role in my life. It is a constant driving force for my behavior and emotions. I am 33 years old and was diagnosed in 2020 with ADHD. Before that I was misdiagnosed with bipolar disorder type two in 2019, which is a very common occurrence. I took a mood stabilizer, an anti-depressant, and eventually a sleeping pill due to these wrong medications messing me up more than I already was.

I eventually changed therapists and she helped quickly get to the bottom of my situation. I stopped taking the BP medications and started out just trying new behavior modifications and grounding techniques, my regular therapy, more exercise, more water. But ADHD was still in control of the steering wheel of my life. I was afraid to try the traditional stimulant meds most commonly prescribed for ADHD. I have had pretty severe back pain since an 8th grade trampoline accident that I never sought true help for. I have always been afraid of ever trying traditionally abused pills and harder drugs. I just started smoking pot at the same time as this accident and it helped unknowingly with my ADHD symptoms and back pain simultaneously. Pot helped in the same way that someone who needs glasses and has them, but they just aren’t the correct prescription. My reality was still foggy due to the internal chatter of the ADHD symptoms I experience.

ex: All of my education was a struggle. from kindergarten until I dropped out of college. The amount of energy required for me to be a C student is more than it should take. More than for most people. And when I became overwhelmed with this reality I would do a few things to “help” . Sleep, smoke, or do things that were risky. Skateboard and try things that were way above my level resulting in me usually getting hurt, For sleep, it didn’t matter if I was at home, a friends, or in school. Some how I managed to get by with most of my teachers not bothering me on my bad days and allowed me to just put my head down all through class. I also had very long hair that was usually in my face regardless so I could be sitting up and half asleep, too. I smoked pot before school, a lot of times during school, on my way home from school, and up until I went to sleep.

I don’t become angry when I realize how different my life could have been if i had been diagnosed much earlier in life, and that would have probably been great I’m sure. But despite my hardships and “lost” time, I wouldn’t change it now even if I could. You see, I don’t enjoy solitude naturally. I love people and all that life has to offer. IF I had received that early diagnoses as a kid and finished school well, and graduated college I wouldn’t have this passion to want to help other people who struggle alone like I did my whole life. You may see my life from an outsiders point of view and it may not seem that bad. And it’s not. I love my life. But here’s the key ingredient. Potential. I’ve been operating at 50% or 60% of my potential.

Three days ago I gave up the fears and spoke with my therapist and have started taking Adderall. From day one of starting that medication, I have been steadily feeling like I am gaining back that lost potential. My mind is starting to do what I ask of it. My emotions are becoming regulated and significantly less overwhelming and downright enjoyable. I’m not being triggered from over stimulus into near panic attacks. I am recognizing shifts in my emotions and able to pause and see where the change came from to check it’s validity or not. If I choose to sit with an emotion now, it is because I decided to, not because my body is out of control.

From here I can only go up and I hope to bring as many of you with me. This story isn’t over, come on back now!

Side note: ADHD is genetic and a person is born with it. It is a neurodevelopmental disorder of our brains. We lack the neurotransmitters norepinephrine and dopamine. Boys and girls can have it and it doesn’t look the same in every person. So don’t neglect the signs if your kid is struggling. And many many adults are walking around with ADHD unknowingly just barley surviving. Reach out, you just may help someone out of the gutter

#ChaseWithin #HappinessFirst #HelpingPeopleHelpThemselves #MentalHealth #MentalHealthAwareness #MentalHealthMatters #ADHD #EndTheStigma #SelfCare #ADHDsupport #MentalHealthSupport #EndTheStigmaOfMentalHealth

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servetolive · 7 years ago

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KMFDM Lyric Writing Prompts! 1/?

Opium thru Naive.

Opium: *good for Halloween/dark erotica*

“Hide the haunting notes that swell.”

“Touch the tears, lick the dress.”

“Bleed for me with one caress.”

“Nothing spoken, nothing blamed.”

“Nothing given, nothing gained.”

“Twisted into me, the deed is done.”

“The devil’s friend, just like mine.”

“Just one squeeze, you ain’t breathing.”

“Here, the drunken dangers lie.”

“Used to fear the hand of hate.”

“Strength is equal to its need.”

“Satisfy your spreading seed.”

“The bailful rings, the creeping calls.”

“Don’t hide.”

“Don’t sleep.”

“Don’t move.”

“Don’t cheat.”

“Don’t give.”

“Don’t tell.”

“Don’t cut.”

“Don’t kiss and tell.”

“Don’t bruise it, just use it.”

“One death, one life; one flick, one knife”

“Baby, be mine. You can be my mind”

“One little life, now.”

“You can be my former, and I’ll be your last.”

“I’ll be your Cuntboy…”

“You’ll be my eat, I’ll be your drink.”

“Don’t even think.”

“Just drink.”

“I said, do. Not. Think.”

“I’m gonna kiss the moonlight…”

“Gonna take a risk, gonna take a line.”

“Gonna do it again, take it from behind.”

What Do You Know, Deutschland?

“You know I like everything about you.”

“Let’s hope to God we can get it right.”

“I’m a man who’s sick, but I got class.”

“I’ll call you ‘thing.’“

“You talk about day, I’m talkin’ ‘bout nighttime.”

“You’re a gutter gaunt gangster.”

“We’ll dance our lives away.”

“Come on honey, let’s bless our luck.”

“Here comes mommie with a Tommy gun.”

“Open wounds just make me croon.”

“Loving can be an art.”

“Lie on your back.”

“We can hear it go, ‘snap snap snap.’“

“It’s nothing.”

“God I feel healthy, God, I feel fine.”

“That little conillon’s mine.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, there’s plenty of time for everything.”

Don’t Blow Your Top

“It really starts when I take him home.”

“No meat, no man.”

“I’m obsessed and deranged.”

“I am destined to rule.”

“I don’t want your sweet devotion.”

“I don’t want your cheap emotion.”

“Are you hung up?”

“Give me your dirty love.”

“Took my stash and left me lonely.”

“I plead my loss when I tread my cross.”

“Give it to me inch by inch.”

“Take it mile by mile.”

UAIOE

“Open your eyes, realize that you’re blind.”

“You’re a sinner, I’m a sinner.”

“I’m designed to rule and regulate you.”

“Vile and pernicious, yet you can’t look away…”

“I make you think I’m delicious.”

“I’m the best you can get.”

“Tell me you love me – Like I want you to.”

“I love you so hard now.”

“I’m crying for you.”

“I wanna get inside; get a hold of you.”

“Just get me wasted, and I’m halfway there.”

“If my mind’s tore up, my body don’t care.”

“I’m the heaven, I’m the water, I’m the dirt beneath your shoes…”

“Tie me all up, strap down, and get loose.”

“Fuck yourself up.”

“Sooner or later, you’ll believe what I’ve told…”

“You bring me up, you bring me down.”

“Told me that you love me, but I’m not satisfied.”

“I lost control of all my functions.”

“‘Cause my dark, Satanic mind whispers secrets of a kind.”

“Crazy things you do not know.”

“You’d better run, you’d better hide or be the victim of my crime.”

“You won’t survive my day of judgement.”

Naive:

“That’s the way of the world.”

“She has to be loved.”

“Tell me sweet secrets.”

“Tell me about reality.”

“Take me to the other side.”

“Walk the line.”

“See my face just once again, watch me fall for you.”

“Just like before, running for my life.”

“Watch me fall.”

“Hiding in the twilight.”

“Obnoxious and depraved, waking up in a scream.”

“Sleeping in the morgue.”

“Echoes loving ecstasy.”

“Totally addicted, under detrimental spell.”

“We’‘ll never be the same again, stuck in deadly sin.”

“Du stinkst, du Sau.” (You stink, you sow.)

“Meine Hände in Fesseln, das Hirn ein Loch in der Wand” (My hands are in chains; my brain–a hole in the wall.)

“Smoke some dope, waste your brain.”

“Collecting lives, paying later.”

“Gonna kill ya, gonna thrill ya.”

“This love ain’t real, it’s just a fake.”

“You did wrong my dear, but it’s too late.”

“You’re the victim, he’s the master.”

“Beg for mercy, more and faster.” Reblog if you like! :D and tag #kmfdm lyric prompt plz, would love to read!

#writing #writing prompts #ask prompts #halloween prompts #spooky prompts #kmfdm #lyric prompts #kmfdm lyric prompts

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vmzincforarchitecture · 7 years ago

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TO THE POINT – Roger Baltus’s column

Saga - The fabulous destiny of La Vieille Montagne:

Episode 10: A brief history of the future of zinc

Confidence

We cannot accept that an industrial saga as rich as that of Vieille Montagne could end with a simple description of the current state of the company! Because history is ongoing and we all want to put another coin in the machine to discover the next episode of the adventure!

Nevertheless, I have to tell you that, over the coming weeks, VMZINC will be turning a major page in its history.

As I recounted in the ninth episode, Umicore underwent its transformation by positioning itself as a world leader in recycling, energy and clean mobility. In light of this, Umicore decided to break away from its traditional activities related to zinc. The Zinc Chemicals business unit was sold in 2016 and is now called “Everzinc”. Now it is the Building Products business unit's turn to be sold. This will happen in the coming months, before the end of the year. Whatever happens, it will keep its VMZINC brand, which it has been preciously preserving since the start, a prestigious brand that is part of what is known as “intangible assets”.

Have we come full circle?

We could say, with emotion, that we have come full circle. The very first application of zinc in 1811 (see episode 1 of the saga) was installed on a roof and the zinc was already rolled. And the building products division, the only one still active in 2017 under the Vieille Montagne (VMZINC) brand, will be prolonging its fabulous history outside of Umicore Group!

But is it really so difficult to know what will happen in our sector over the next 30 years? Is it so impossible to imagine the medium term future of the use of professional products such as those offered by the VMZINC range for construction, which are perceived as being very traditional?

The building industry to the fore of innovation!

Perhaps it is the first mistake to avoid. All around the world, the building industry has never experienced such rapid change as over the last ten years or less! A slow revolution is underway. It aims to design and use buildings differently. The objective, although ambitious over the medium term, is to transfer methods and practices from the aeronautics and automotive industries to the building industry.

More specifically – thanks to integrated management of data and information – the objective is to anticipate, right from the design phase, errors at interfaces between the building trades, errors that up to now were identified and treated at site level. It is also thanks to digitalization of project models that it is possible to overhaul the way various stakeholders in a project work together, using a common language and supports that are completely computerized. By this I mean the irresistible BIM (Building Information Modelling) approach, which I would say is at the advanced experimentation stage, a gradual convergence of formats and practices by stakeholders that are still pioneers but already capable through concrete practice of demonstrating the real advantages of this approach.

We can already safely predict that in 2050, BIM will be widely used and the design and maintenance of 100% of new buildings will be managed using this method that will dematerialise supports of representation, considerably reduce delivery times and significantly transform the building professions, starting with that of the architect, who will have free online access to practically everything industrials provide. The latter will have abandoned their traditional print catalogues, and their offer will be available on generalist websites and in shared databases that will be updated in real time. Their sales teams will no longer need to visit clients, whether over-informed installers or architects, except to give them samples or customised mock-ups in project mode. The skills of these traditional sales profiles will evolve with greater technical knowledge to discuss functional and interface issues with clients. In concrete terms, as far as the VMZINC offer is concerned, it will no longer be a question of “placing” products and roofing, facade or rainwater systems without discussing and helping to design links with adjacent materials and systems or with components of the sub-structure.

Solutions, systems and packages

Which leads me to the subject of the systemic logic expected by design teams. Contrary to popular belief, architects do not work with unbridled creativity 100% of the time. They must act as conductors who coordinate and make compatible, rather than focusing on details. While they work mainly on the programme, proportions, form and choice of materials, they appreciate being offered reliable, well-defined constructive solutions, if possible with a guarantee of performance. So what they want from industrials is not to complicate their role, but to make it easier via the provision of “packages” for which they can simply measure compatibility with their project and the value of these packages in terms of the quantitative criteria they have established.

This is why the VMZINC offer that we have started to digitalize (to BIM-ize) cannot be based on the basic catalogue offer, i.e. on isolated products. It needs to be based on comprehensive systems that take into account the entire wall, from zinc cladding to supporting wall, whether for roofs or facade.

To accept our zinc cladding or roofing, the architect will want us to provide him with a complete, coherent system featuring clearly described performances in terms of mechanical, thermal and acoustic resistance. In short, even though we will (probably) not sell insulation, vapour barriers or primary or secondary frameworks, we will have to describe them skilfully and present these components in a generic manner in our system. The architect will appreciate even more as these systems will be installed by the same company. So zinc roofers will have to extend their skills to these related components, particularly because thermal regulations requiring installation of increasingly thick insulation will influence projects by placing the cladding further from the supporting wall or the frame. For example, the high performance roofing system known as “sarking”, featuring rigid insulation mounted on the exterior and serving as a direct support for the roofing material, would be installed by the roofer.

Water has already tried everything to get the better of Vieille Montagne zinc

In order to make forecasts, one has to start with the present.

First assertion: almost all VMZINC zinc installed in 2017 will still be on roofs and facades in 2050. It will even be in great condition, just patinated, because 33 is a good age for our material. So we will still be part of the landscape, even if all around our zinc things will have changed considerably.

Second assertion: in 2050 it will still rain and perhaps more than currently in certain regions. This makes me think of one of our advertising campaigns entitled “water has already tried everything to get the better of Vieille Montagne zinc”, which featured a gutter in winter with impressive stalactites and then the same gutter drenched by a downpour of rain or baking under a red hot sun!

In my post number 67, I talked about the raison d’être of our company, which I consider to be entirely related to the ultimate goal (reached with the help of zinc workers) of preventing rain water from penetrating into the building that VMZINC zinc is protecting! This is why I can assert that there will still be lots of our material on roofs in 2050, on “seams” and flashings, especially as we will be continuing to intensively train zinc roofers using effective digital methods such as electronic tutorials!

Third assertion: in 2050, rainwater will be collected locally by the roof for inhabitants. Already in Japan and Germany, rainwater being collected and directly stored is replacing 25 to 40% of the volume of water consumed by occupants. This collection at source makes it possible to better manage - via retention - excessive flow of rainwater due to storms, a flow that by accumulating could saturate urban evacuation networks and sometimes lead to significant damage! So this is a challenge for horizontal and vertical evacuation systems in zinc, which could be extended to carry rainwater to collective tanks for a block or a neighbourhood. Perhaps VMZINC will also have to develop new skills in the area of storage, treatment and daily re-use of rainwater!

Building envelopes: a key issue for tapping energy

Building envelopes remain a central investment for architects because they sign the meaning and image of buildings. They are probably the last real area of freedom left to architects. But aesthetic choices are not or are no longer the only reason for this. The envelope, perceived as a skin, is undeniably the main area of exchange with atmospheric energy, light, solar heat, wind and, as previously mentioned, rain water. None of this energy alone could respond to the needs of housing, but together they can contribute to the achievable objective for the building to be energy self-sufficient (this is already possible), and subsequently (around 2030) even to produce excess energy. Thermal regulations the world over are heading in this inevitable direction. So the building envelope of 2050 will probably be where numerous thermal and photovoltaic sensors will be placed, micro-wind turbines* and measurement tools or LED lighting elements. This could lead us to think that the surface area of traditional roofing materials could be reduced. As far as zinc is concerned, we can be optimistic and anticipate that it will remain, even covered and hidden, the reliable watertight material that can adapt to these new configurations. It would be reasonable to predict the return of roll cap roofing, in an updated form, its longitudinal junctions with capping could be used to cover cables and various sensor connections.

(*) We can begin to imagine roofing made up of wind installation tiles, each tile integrating a micro-turbine on a small nozzle formed in a stamped zinc panel. These interconnected micro-wind turbines could produce energy to complement photovoltaic installations.

With a little daring, it wouldn't be Utopian to think that photovoltaic materials, in fact metal substrates (produced by Umicore!), could be sprayed like paint on a pre-installed zinc roof. Then it would just be necessary to connect these extremities to the entire surface of the roof, which would then make up an enormous, highly cost-effective photovoltaic sensor!

Connected roofs and leased roofs!

Is it incongruous to imagine that in 2050, roofing elements in zinc would be connected objects, with the zinc mass incorporating micro-sensors for example constantly measuring run-off, expansion cycles, watertightness or deformation due to wind! In other words, the life of your zinc roof monitored by a control screen!

Another possibility that is intrinsically linked to the durability of our material is that of roof leasing. VMZINC is the BMW of roofing and facade: incomparable quality and performance, a specific elegance combining classicism & modernity, and a high trade-in value. Enough to imagine VMZINC as the owner of an international fleet of roofs with long term leases, possibly including energy sensors, maintenance and perhaps initial installation with guarantee. Should a roof be traded in, clients would transfer their leasing contract and a purchase option could even be offered after a certain number of years (30, 40 or 50 years!). This would be a significant change in business model, with which VMZINC could associate its installer clients.

Elegant envelopes: what will VMZINC look like?

Judging by the appetite architects have for our patinas, our surface treatments and our coloured zincs, the VMZINC range in 2050 will be much broader and extended to include new aspects. The engraved Azengar range is just starting out. VMZINC zinc, while remaining the noble material it is, will again be available in new shades of grey and in other preweathered colours. It will be nicked, scarified, attacked by acid, laser engraved and perhaps mixed or used with other materials such as timber, stainless steel and glass!

The vertical city

This subject is a passion of mine. The enthusiasm in large cities for roof-top apartments and accessible terraces makes it possible for visitors and night owls to discover cities differently, from a height.

What if we were to live on roof-tops? And we entered our future buildings via the roof?

We all remember Bruce Willis as a taxi driver flying between buildings in the “Fifth element”, the famous film directed by Luc Besson. Will we manage, as suggested in the film, to live at high altitude to escape pollution and the vicissitudes of the gloomy life that will have developed at ground level? If public transport evolves under the influence of drones, will we travel in small collective or individual aircraft that will perhaps turn roofs into runways or light aircraft parking lots? In this case, will VMZINC become a specialist in watertightness for helipads?

The future is what we make it

The previous paragraphs outline some avenues for development upon which our company could embark over the coming years. There will be choices and investments to make. New professions to learn. We will also have to renew ourselves while remaining ourselves, as we have been doing for the past 180 years.

If you have any comments on these mainly realistic predictions (or even the more forward-thinking ones), your feedback is always welcome! If your vision of the future for the construction industry is different, please tell us about it!

We love talking about the future

Roger Baltus

Engineer-architect

Director of communication with VMZINC

Article - 2017/07/13

#VMZINC #VieilleMontagne #RogerBaltus'sColumn #Zinc

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newssplashy · 6 years ago

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Hell In The City: Full story of the tanker accident that burnt several in Lagos

Pulse went to the scene of the Lagos tanker accident and spoke to eyewitnesses. This is what they told us.

Madam Olaide Animashaun recalls the moment everyone was screaming at the middle aged man driving a truck laden with petrol, because he was losing control of his vehicle. Time check, 5:15pm.

Animashaun runs a kiosk in an uncompleted building beside the Otedola bridge. She watched as a tanker that had lost its brakes, ended the lives of several on the Lagos-Ibadan expressway, on a chaotic evening in the nation's commercial capital.

“People were shouting at him to put a wedge under his tyres. He tried to put a wedge but it wasn't working. There were cars behind him, honking desperately. The traffic was mad. But his truck kept rolling backwards because it had developed brake failure. This tanker was on a slope. The truck was now beginning to spill its inflammable contents on the road. The cars behind the petrol truck were trying to scamper out of the way, but there was no way for them to go because all lanes were blocked.

“Next thing, we heard a bang and then the fire started. I ran. Everybody ran….It was brake failure”, Animashaun said in an emotion laden voice.

According to Animashaun, the tanker which was painted red, had no company name on it.

Fire on the bridge

At about 5:30pm on Thursday, June 28, 2018, images of a long line of cars getting burnt in broad daylight on the busiest expressway in Nigeria, found their way to social media. The dark balls of fire would morph into thick black clouds amid cries for help.

Eyewitnesses say many had to be resuscitated after they inhaled black soot.

The Federal Road Safety Commission (FRSC) and the Lagos State Emergency Management Agency (LASEMA) said 9 bodies were recovered from the scene of the accident and 54 cars were burnt beyond recognition. However, Adedoyin Adejubu, a young man who lives in the neighbourhood and who saw it all unfold, disputes the official death toll.

“Let me tell you, close to 100 people died. The government is lying. This is not some obscure village in Borno or a hidden neigbourhood in rural Nigeria. This happened in Lagos. We saw it all. There is nothing like only 9 people died. Ambulances were packing dead bodies into body bags all night long. How can you pack just 9 bodies with several ambulance trips all night? They worked all night to clear the corpses. My brother, they are lying to you”, Adejubu said, agitated.

Animashaun and Adejubu relayed the story of a bus full of school kids. They said the bus was a Caleb school bus. They wondered, through tear soaked eyes, if all the kids survived.

“There was a bus full of Caleb students. I don’t want to say what I saw. I pray half those students made it…..a lot of them were badly burnt…..”

Pulse wasn't able to reach the Caleb school authorities before this story was filed.

At the scene of the accident the morning after, the Lagos State emergency management agencies and traffic management authorities, went about the task of clearing the trucks, burnt buses and cars. The air was still filled with carbon monoxide and black soot when Pulse arrived the scene. There were still traces of blood here and there, burnt bags and papers. Scavengers were also on the scene, rummaging for valuables.

In an uncompleted building, 'Area Boys' had stockpiled valuables garnered from the scene of the accident. They were waiting for the right buyers.

"One man in a suit got out from his luxury jeep with a bag as the fire raged. He was running. But the fire still got to him. He didn't make it", Adejubu said.

Pulse watched as the man's said bag was removed from the gutter.

Eyewitnesses blame government

“The government has to do more to keep us alive in this country. About 10 years ago, there was a similar accident here. Does this mean that in 10 years, we have learnt nothing? That nothing can be done? Are we going to be marking a 10-year anniversary every now and again?

"This is the only road I use to my house; this is the only road some of us know. I live in Ojodu. This is the only road I know. In saner countries, tankers don’t ply busy roads during the day. Why do we have to die because government cannot regulate the reckless activities of tanker drivers? Which kind of country is this? Every day when I use this road, I have my heart in my mouth because of petrol tankers,” said Mrs. Tope Nwosu in a fit of rage.

Alfa Wasiu, another eyewitness, also pleaded with the government to make the roads safer. “Please you people should help us tell government to regulate the activities of tanker drivers. We are begging you. Please……”

Bolting out of a burning car

Madam Titilayo who also runs a beverage kiosk underneath the Otedola bridge told Pulse that the death toll couldn't have been 9. “Ah….Ahhhhh…na lie o…na lie o…e pass 9 o…”, she screamed in Yoruba.

Most of the eyewitnesses who spoke to Pulse, said there was no way 9 persons could have died from an accident in which 54 cars were burnt.

“Ko possible rara”, said Adejubu….”ko possible...ahhhh”.

Another eyewitness who identified himself as Martins, said when the fire started, most persons couldn’t bolt out of their cars because the locks got jammed; no thanks to thermal expansion.

“Heat causes expansion. Things like locks expand inside their holsters and become impossible to pry open”, blogger and writer, Chioma Agwuegbo, explained.

Mrs. Animashaun gave the Lagos emergency response team top marks, though. “They arrived on time. In less than seven minutes, the ambulances and fire service people were here. They really tried. It could have been worse”, she said.

The government responds

LASEMA spokesperson Adeshina Tiamiyu maintained that only 9 persons died from the incident. “Nine people are dead and four injured are in hospital”, Tiamiyu declared.

Air Commodore Akugbe Iyamu who is Director, Search and Rescue of the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA), told Pulse at the scene of the accident that only 9 persons died. Iyamu didn’t disclose which mortuary or hospital the dead or injured were taken to.

A spokesman for the Federal Road Safety Commission, Bisi Kazeem, said in a statement that the tanker, five buses, two trucks, a tricycle and 45 cars were burnt out.

“As a government, we would not relent in putting measures in place to ensure safety of lives and property of all residents,” promised Lagos state government spokesperson, Kehinde Bamigbetan.

“We extend our deepest commiseration to the families of persons who lost their lives as well as properties to the incident.”

As Pulse was recording at the scene of the tanker accident, another accident occurred on the opposite lane. A danfo driver speeding in one way traffic, had a head-on collision with a commercial bus that was ferrying commuters from Ondo in the opposite direction. Some 10 persons emerged from the accident badly hurt and unconscious. They were immediately rushed to hospital.

On Friday, June 29, 2018, another fuel tanker burst into flames when it collided with a trailer at Mallam Karo, along Minna-Suleja road in Niger State.

source https://www.newssplashy.com/2018/06/hell-in-city-full-story-of-tanker.html

#News

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bruceeves · 7 years ago

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“Work # 950: From Birth to (Near) Death and Back Again -- In Four Parts”

The fluidity of power – the idea that authority can be both effectively enforced from afar as well as allowed to fester quietly within – is a proposition that has been explored in much of my work over the course of my career. While the task at hand is to address the issue of “risk”, I’ve chosen to tackle this question by greatly expanding upon an artist’s statement accompanying four works that were presented together at the Robert Kananaj Gallery during the summer of 2015 to celebrate its fourth anniversary. These works were created over the past five years – from the birth of a culture-defining method of social control with centuries-long ramifications, to the acceptance over a brief period of time the tyranny of aging (along with tangents about the death of the avant-garde and the trouble with selfies) this further elaboration and close reading of the four works at the centre of this discussion both explore and expose the political, psychological, and emotional implications of power dynamics from the macro (on a societal level) to the micro (on a cellular level). This closer examination reveals a continuity of spirit and an intellectual engagement supplemented by real-world (as opposed to art-world) experience firmly grounded in art history.

As a work of literary fiction, the first five books of the Old Testament (Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy) may provide a gripping narrative, but in 1604 when James I commissioned a translation from Hebrew and Aramaic to consolidate regal authority his intent was never to lay out the blueprint for an equitable society, but was to produce an officially sanctioned standardized document to regulate daily life as well as act as a blunt force weapon entitling the sovereign the power to supersede the rule of law. By allegedly relying on the services of the leading literary lions of the day (Shakespeare et al) to gussy up an otherwise dry narrative, the King’s political mission reached fruition. “Work # 808: Leviticus (Updated)” is the first in a series of large scale conceptually-driven photo-based works begun in 2010 after suffering a crisis of faith that the future viability of art was something other than that of a diversionary caprice for the so-called one percent. A crisis actualized by the seemingly near-universal desire to kowtow to the limitless demands for the familiar and the safe and the conventional; a crisis triggered by the despair of witnessing in the late 1970s what little remained of the historical avant-garde devolve into a morass of triviality and disposable mass entertainment. To swipe a couple of lines from Michel Houellebecq “at this stage we don’t give a damn about the reviews. It’s no longer there that the real decisions are made, [and] we’re at the point where success in market terms justifies and validates anything, replacing all the theories.” (I have my own theory about the late ‘70s collapse – having been a part of it – but that is fodder for a separate discussion.) We’ve reached a point in which an increasingly public debate (Bürger, Danto, Foster, Vargas Llosa et al) questions whether art even continues to exist. From Manet forward to the beginning of the Reagan/Thatcher/Mulroney era artists willfully maintained an antagonistic relationship with their patrons. And while every art student makes an unspoken pact with the notion of capitalist consumption, any engagement with or against the marketplace is a situation fraught with peril. I can think of no significant time during that century and a half before the late ‘70s when artists were willing and eager to service the slumming diversions of the well-heeled as today. The death of innovation that followed the avant-garde’s collapse saw the advent of post-this and neo-that. It’s not for nothing that “In the Return of the Real: The Avant-Garde at the End of the Century” (MIT Press, 1996) Hal Foster dismissed the “neo-s” as the “necro-s”.

With “Work # 808: Leviticus (Updated)” the idea was to hit the reset button and return to the beginning. Relying upon David Plotz’s exceedingly witty and acerbic “Good Book” (HarperCollins, 2009) as my guide, my “Bible for Dummies”, my “Coles Notes for Scripture”, allowed me to approach the inherent foreignness of these foundational texts as raw material and to respond to and contemporize a work introduced to the world by King James by reducing the words he authorized to their visual essence.

“Work # 808: Leviticus (Updated)” is enormous. It consists of a 228.6x304.8 cm (90”x120”) photograph of a drought-stricken riverbed chopped up into a framed grid of nine 76.2x101.6 cm (30”x40”) panels randomly covered with the word ‘no’ repeated twenty-four times. The source material’s narrative was intended as an instrument of rigid social control through behaviour modification and took the form of an exhaustive litany of prohibitions combining the ludicrous and the lethal (from the sumptuary to the sexual). My visual rendition of the document takes it’s laundry list of diktats and offers them up as a series of tiny but emphatic, foot-stamping no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no’s sprinkled like seeds across a desiccated landscape that will never allow anything ever to grow. Leviticus was the book that fun forgot; it’s only value has been to allow generations of sanctimonious hypocrites the free rein to pick and choose their weapons of mass bullying. And like the book, the artwork that dares to speak its name is heavy and dour and negative, hung so low to the floor that it becomes an all-powerful, all-enveloping vehicle of oppression.

Accepting as its personal saviour the guiding spirit of “Salò: 120 Nights of Sodom” – Pier Paolo Pasolini’s 1975 enumeration of abuse of power, corruption, sadism, sexual perversity, and fascism – “Work # 864: The Nature of God” (2013) is one work from a series that explores the outer limits of masculine behaviour – a behaviour that is traditionally still expected from the boy before he is considered to be fully a man. While I have long delved into the question of the "gay sensibility", this is neither a trip down memory lane nor a retreat into the stereotyped suck-and-fuck paradigm. I'm positioning myself as an ironic spectator of this world of men ripped from the daily headlines where the 19th century notion of a romantic friendship is kicked into the gutter. With titles like “Trailer Trash Terrorism”, “Behave Work Obey”, “Yes I Will Yes”, “Cell Block Bitch”, “Ash(And)Tray”, and “Shhh . . . (How to Conduct a Successful Interrogation – Lessons 1-20)” this is not a series of works intended for the faint of heart.

Cherry-picking at will from mutually exclusive sources - the morning headlines, the official record of 20th century art, the signs and signifiers of the gay male underground – has allowed me to explore the spaces between these charged relationships. What I do with this series is the opposite of aestheticize the gleaming muscleboy or explore the romanticism of male bonding. It is old news that the male body continues to be a provocation; ironically, a critique of masculinity has gone largely unexplored. Herein lies the challenge: it furthers the proposition examined in much of my work that it should be possible to be simultaneously hot and sweaty and critical and detached. It is desirable – even exhilarating – to question the givens of our cultural baggage while at the same time allowing ourselves to be wrapped in its brawny arms.

Work # 864: The Nature of God” allows that the rigour of discipline often morphs into the disciplinarian running amok. Notwithstanding the fact that this work has been described as ‘the water-boarding piece’(which is an interpretation that I don’t dismiss), it is a multi-image cum-soaked force-feeding enacting either the predetermined choreography of an arcane sexual ritual or the resolution of cold-blooded revenge. That’s up for you to decide; it’s September and (reform) school is now in session.

The seven rows of deceptively random, densely packed, brightly coloured and seemingly arbitrary numbers that completely fill the 76.2x101.6 cm (30”x40”) picture elude easy interpretation. The clue to unlocking the meaning of this secret code is somewhat revealed by the presence of “Untitled Self-Portrait #49 (Nine Readings)” along the bottom edge of the image. With study the apparent randomness resolves into a series of dates and medical readouts, and carnival-coloured though it may be and written in the language of numbers that only cardiologists would love at first sight, it is a work perhaps at its most personal and exposed because it addresses my own mortality.

As a darkly witty attempt at wresting control away from the terrors of aging, “Work # 842: Untitled Self-Portrait # 49 (Nine Blood Pressure Readings) Old/Sick #01” (2012) is a work that grudgingly acknowledges my being granted a visa to enter the Republic of Oldmanland. After being diagnosed with a heart condition that required a surgically-implanted stent to open a dangerously blocked artery close to my heart, and thus narrowly avoiding a probable fatal cardiac event, a six-month stint in cardio rehab was mandated. It’s not without a sense of irony that the author of this self-portrait fails to appear in any recognizable form. (A target blood-pressure reading should be anything below 140/90. During the period when this piece was being put together the high point, so to speak, was 181/114. This was moving into stroke territory.) At the most recent annual meeting with my cardiologist there was no mention of me as a person but the evaluation was based entirely on my numbers. All of my numbers were below the desired targets. My electrocardiogram numbers looking good; my blood pressure numbers look good; my heart rate numbers look good; my cholesterol numbers looked good . . . With only having to rely upon minimal medications and lots of walking and a decent diet I’ve been given a clean (if slightly diminished) bill of health; so there.

There’s obviously a difference between quiet introspection and narcissistic self-admiration, between mindfulness and histrionics, between documenting an experience after the fact and being the experience itself. There’s something charming about the humbled expressions on the faces of tourists posed in front of a wonder of the natural or built world that moved them to such a degree that total strangers were asked to document the memory of what they just witnessed compared with the more than too many sensitivity-challenged grinning idiots in front of a death camp episodes. Every moment, every experience, is reduced to having the same value as every other moment and experience. There’s something desperate and needy, something deeply anti-intellectual about not understanding the importance of an insightful experience because it’s been clouded by auto-infatuation. Karl Ove Knausgaard states that “only a poet would see the difference between poetry and poetry that resembles poetry [and] you were constantly on the verge of the insight that what you were doing actually had no value.” A quick search of Google for answers to “why I hate selfies” produced 6,090,000 results. This makes plausible the fictional encounter of a selfie taken in the Sistine Chapel where photos and video are forbidden: “God is right next to ME and he’s sticking his finger in my ear LMFAO!”

As a piece of conceptual art about the state of art as art “Work # 937: April 5, 2015 (My Bedroom)” a 101.6x76.2 cm (40”x30”) is a mound of trash made up of dirt, and dust, and dog hair, and dead leaves swept up from my bedroom floor. Aside from everything else, it is perhaps a rather too gentle commentary full of Duchampian disdain for two unfortunate trends – the sentimental pining over disaster and decay and the hauling-piles-of-rubbish-into-gallery-spaces-and-calling-it-baroque practice among those armed with freshly-minted but pointless MFAs. (As an aside, does it need to be pointed out the Baroque was a reactionary response that arose at the behest of the Vatican in its counter-assault against the Protestant reformation? Then as now, reactionary times foster reactionary art.) Even though it’s tangential to the fact that if you go all squinty-eyed over this pointedly ugly pile of crap it begins to resemble the face of some hominid-like thing, it is a self-portrait in all but name. Notwithstanding a nod to Quentin Crisp’s brilliant fib that after five years the dust doesn’t get any deeper, the work operates against a backdrop of darker cultural significance as one that confront ageism – the last acceptable form of bigotry allowed to be voiced openly across all sectors of society, but most pointedly and shamefully within the art world itself. (Given that one of the edits from the Kapsula writing workshop hosted by Gina Badger made reference to grumpy old men merely reinforces my contention in this regard.) The allusion to everything else that had been set aside resides in the visually whispered text “My Bedroom”, embedded in the centre of the photograph; grounding itself as a self-deprecating auto-assault and a psychological marker of loneliness and depression and its power to destroy.

It’s not for the lack of an alternative that I’ve expropriated control over a formal studio portrait from my boyhood and claimed it as my first self-portrait, repurposing it as my profile pic on various social media sites. It’s assumed the photograph was specifically chosen by my parents from an extended session; they saw something in my pose – The slight sneer? The slight arch of my brow? The ramrod straight haughtiness? – that foretold that this little boy from the late 1950s was never destined to be the archetypal man in the grey flannel suit.

Over the course of the past number of decades I was the little boy in the iron lung who survived most of the ravages of polio; made it through years of vicious and violent teenaged bullying almost unscathed; escaped the genocide of AIDS by sheer dumb luck when living in New York City throughout the 1980s and ‘90s while thousands of my peers were dropping like flies; watching helplessly as my partner of twenty-five years went from robust, burly masculinity on our wedding day to a shriveled corpse after six months of being eaten alive by cancers so ravenous he didn’t stand a chance; but was finally nearly taken out by a silent genetic predisposition beyond my control. It’s the missing pieces implied by ‘surviving most of’, ‘made it through’, ‘escaped’, ‘watched helplessly’ and ‘nearly taken out’ that are the seeds from which my art has be able to sprout. BRUCE EVES September, 2015

As a visual artist, Eves has been influenced by the theoretical issues raised by performance and conceptual art. This has been supplemented by experience as art director of the New York Native, chief archivist for the International Gay History Archive (now part of the Rare Books and Manuscript collection of the New York Public Library, and assistance programming director of the Centre for Experimental Art and Communication (CEAC).

Work # 950: From Birth to (Near) Death and Back Again – In Four Parts was published in the November 2015 issue of Kapsula.

#2015

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