#between forcing myself back out there and getting back into therapy last year.. holy mother of fuck have i seen the difference..

[foreverxdaydreaming]

if you know any of these, i respect you and your taste dearly... but also, how hard is that nostalgia hitting you rn? pretty bittersweet, eh?

[jbuffyangel]

The Bermuda Triangle: Arrow 1x13 Review (Betrayal)

Time to deal with this love triangle and all the ways it is awful.

Let’s dig in...

L*uriver vs. Merlance

I frequently say to myself as I rewatch Season 1 that the triangle makes sense in theory. The writers have all the components, albeit clichéd, that should create a love triangle full of juicy drama.

Man wrongs woman in another life thereby destroying any future together

Woman falls for secret identity without realizing it is the same man who hurt her

Man “gives up” woman for her own good 

Man and best friend are in love with the same woman

Best friend changes his ways and becomes the perfect boyfriend

Woman no longer wants best friend and instead lusts for secret identity bad boy

And round and round we go. The problem is this doesn’t really tread any new ground. How many times have we seen this type of love triangle play out? MANY TIMES. Not saying a tried and true trope can’t be repeated, but if you’re going to use it then try to inject some new life into it. 

Arrow stays stubbornly in between the lines on this one, which means there are no real surprises. We know exactly where this is headed. Everyone is just waiting for L*urel to choose Oliver. Hell, even Tommy knows it is coming someday.

This brings us to our second problem. L*urel choosing Oliver is so inevitable it doesn’t require a lot of character growth for either of them. L*urel and Oliver have not dealt with ANY of the issues that caused their demise. Yes, Oliver cheated on L*urel, but there were reasons why he cheated. Those have yet to be discussed. 

We’re supposed to accept that since Oliver is wearing the hood and is out saving the streets as the vigilante then he is “worthy” of L*urel again. We’re supposed to be waiting with baited breath for L*urel to discover Oliver’s secret identity, realize he’s the man in the hood she’s been lusting after, and fall back into his arms where she belongs.

I think not. Don’t get me wrong. I love me a good triangle. I loved The Vampire Diaries. Two brothers in love with the same woman. Interesting. Woman looks exactly like the lost love that destroyed their bond a hundred years earlier? MORE INTERESTING. And kinky. 

I enjoy exploring the varying ways love is expressed in different relationships and what it can reveal about the characters. There isn’t always a right or wrong choice. There’s just a choice and it reflects the kind of love you need to live.

But I understand the complaints about love triangles. Oliver, L*urel and Tommy are the PERFECT validation of those complaints. It’s a tired way to insert some drama that has a completely predictable ending. The even bigger problem is there’s barely enough heat to melt an ice cube. L*uriver is frigid. Merlance is better, but they certainly aren’t an inferno.

“Betrayal” does an excellent job of highlighting all the love triangle problems which plague Season 1. We’re all waiting for L*urel to see that Oliver is a changed man. If only she knew he was The Hood! Her anger and hurt over Sara blinds her ability to see those changes. He needs to wear the mask, so L*urel can see who Oliver truly is. God that sounds good doesn’t it?

 IT’S NOT GOOD.

Sara was a symptom of much bigger problems between L*urel and Oliver. He did not want to be with L*urel, so he blew their relationship up in a fairly spectacular display of self sabotage.

Why doesn’t Oliver want to be with L*urel? Well... welcome to Oliver’s mind. He’s been asking himself that same question for the last five years. If he wanted to be with L*urel then he would have never left town. He would have never cheated on her with Sara. Then Sara would be alive. His father would be alive. EVERY ounce of guilt Oliver Queen carries is connected to that one single choice of leaving L*urel.

So, it’s fairly easy to understand why Oliver thinks being with L*urel will fix everything. If he can fix things with L*urel then he’s truly forgiven. It washes away the sins of the past. It’s like it never happened. At this point, this is what Oliver wants more than ANYTHING. He can’t bring Sara or Robert back. But he can resuscitate his dead relationship with his ex-girlfriend. Close enough. The man isn’t choosey after five years of misery.

Unfortunately, Oliver hasn’t changed at all when it comes to L*urel Lance. Oh I know BUT THE HOOD. Listen y’all, throwing on leather accessories and playing Robin Hood doesn’t equate to relationship therapy. Sorry writers. I need more than crime fighting to believe Oliver can be the perfect boyfriend now.

He continues to make all the same mistakes. OLIVER IS STILL LYING TO L*UREL. He lies to her every day.  He lies when he’s wearing the hood. He lies when he’s not wearing the hood. LIES LIES LIES LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIESS. Oliver continues to hide who he truly is from L*urel. Different outfit. Same problems.

This brings us to SO. MUCH. MISOGYN. Lance is using the phone The Hood gave L*urel to trap him. Whenever we are looking at betrayal and the Lance family it’s important to grade on a curve. It’s a dirty move on Quentin’s part, but far from the gold medal of betrayals this family achieves.

Source: @laurelsource

Everyone finds out that L*urel is working with the Hood and by everyone I mean Tommy. Quentin follows L*urel with a battalion of police officers to her meeting with The Hood. He’s gathered information on a newly released crime boss, Cyrus Vanch. When Oliver realizes they’ve been busted he holds L*urel by the throat as cover so he can jump off the roof. BuT tHeIr LoVe Is iS hEaLtHy.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource

As L*urel rants to her current boyfriend (yes I use the word “current” on purpose), he pieces together that she’s been lying to him about working with The Hood.

Source: THEARROWGIFS:

L*urel: He's been lying to me for weeks.

Tommy: Yeah feels like crap doesn't it?

Are we surprised L*urel fails to see the hypocrisy in her little rant?

We are not. This is why Tommy was always the better man for L*urel. He actually had a pair and would call her on her BS. Oliver was incapable of doing until well into Season 2, but I digress.

So, Tommy goes to his best friend Oliver for relationship advice. I know this is a television show, but why in the ever living mother of Zeus do L*urel and Tommy think OLIVER is the best person to ask for relationship advice?

Oliver: Tommy, every time you want to talk to me about something, and that something is L*urel, you look like you’re about to tell me you have some terminal disease.

Me: He does have a terminal disease. It’s called L*URIVER.

Tommy: She’s been working with The Hood guy.

Oliver: What? You’re letting her work with that crazy person? She could get hurt Tommy.

Tommy: I’m not letting her do anything. I only just found out about it.

I know this episode aired in 2012, but talk about some patriarchal bullshit. The entire episode is filled with language like this. Quentin, Oliver, Tommy and The Hood all act like L*urel needs their permission to go to the bathroom. New flash fellas: If L*urel wants to engage in nightly rendezvous with a serial killer that’s her business.

L*urel says something to similar effect, but is summarily blown off by whatever male she’s speaking to. She meets up with The Hood after he and Lance save her from Cyrus Vanch.  

Source: BJ-HUNNICUTTS-BLOG 

It seems The Hood didn’t think through all the ways talking to L*urel on a phone and meeting her secretly on rooftops would put her in danger.

Source: BJ-HUNNICUTTS-BLOG

L*urel: I knew the risks.

The Hood: Now I know them and I’m not willing to take them with you.

L*urel: What does that mean?

It means he wants to bone you, L*urel. Get a clue. 

Holy hell, these conversations make her look stupid. L*urel, do you know a lot of six foot men with similar build and facial hair to Oliver Queen? 

Maybe she would take issue with his infantilizing if she stopped speaking like a three year old whenever The Hood is around. 

Source: LAURELSOURCE

She has this dazed expression too. I know L*urel is so overwhelmed with all the ATTRACTION and LUST that her eyes dilate and the bosom heaves, but I’m starting to think a taser gun is how they forced Katie do scenes with Stephen.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

The point is nobody is all that interested in L*urel’s agency – INCLUDING L*UREL. I understand “secret identity” is a very common trope in hero’s stories, but it never makes any sense to me. Shouldn’t the “true love” be the first person to know who the hero is and not the last? Oliver keeps saying he can’t tell the people he loves who he truly is because it will put them in danger. So, he doesn’t care if Diggle gets killed? His logic makes no sense.  If this was truly about protecting people then why did he need a partner?

And no – you can’t use John can protect himself. We just watched L*urel throw down with that umbrella. She was lethal. 

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

Oliver is the king of compartmentalization. He does not know how to merge his two selves yet. He cannot fathom showing Thea, Moira, Tommy and L*urel his darkest self because that means being honest about what happened the five years he was away and what it did to him. That will be a hard pass from our leather clad hero.

My other issue with the love triangle (in addition to all the lying and misogyny) is Oliver comes off like an asshole. He manipulates Tommy with statements like, "L*urel is lying? That doesn't seem like her” and “ have an honest chat with her” like there is something in their relationship causing her to lie or that Tommy is responsible for L*urel’s behavior. He’s slowly pecking away at the Merlance walls until it crumbles. DIRTY POKER OLIVER QUEEN.

But then we arrive at this gross fest:

Tommy: There’s some sort of infatuation thing going on here. We both know that she has a pretty strong track record of being attracted to guys who are dangerous, who break the rules. Show me a more dangerous rule breaker than The Hood.

Oliver: I just think you need to have an honest chat with her. Find out the real reason she’s keep secrets.

Tommy: I just can’t believe that L*urel of all people would lie to my face. I guess that’s the way it is with the people you are closest to.

Oliver: I know, but talk to her anyway. And fix this before it becomes something that’s unfixable.

Did this conversation actually happen?

Does anyone else find it weird that Tommy and Oliver psychoanalyze L*urel’s dating preferences? 

And even weirder they are ACCURATE? 

Credit where credit is due. L*urel likes bad boys right up until they become good boys. Then she’s off to find the next asshole that will lie, cheat and disappoint her. (We could do an entire novel’s worth of L*urel Lance’s toxic dating choices).

Even worse, Tommy concludes she has the hots for The Hood like it’s nothing. Like it’s completely normal and okay behavior. 

Holy hell man! Tommy, maybe L*urel has beaten any self respect into the ground, but IT’S OK TO EXPECT YOUR GIRLFRIEND TO NOT BE INFATUATED WITH OTHER MEN.

What’s really gross is Oliver lies straight to Tommy’s face (no differently than L*urel did) while using the secret identity to engage in inappropriate flirting with his best friend’s girlfriend. He uses the hood to say things to L*urel that he would NEVER say as Oliver Queen. And L*urel never tells The Hood she has a boyfriend or to back off. In fact, she encourages the behavior. THIS. IS. CHEATING. Maybe not physical, but it sure is emotional.

Let’s also never forget L*urel started sleeping with Tommy as a way to stick it to Oliver. She wasn’t expecting to develop real feelings for Tommy, and I do believe she loves him, but that doesn’t erase the toxicity of this cycle that somebody needs to end.

There’s just no good here, my friends. 

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

The writers are relying on an empty “they are supposed to be together” promise without providing any evidence why. Neither L*urel nor Oliver has changed in a meaningful way to support giving their relationship another try. The problem between them wasn’t whether or not Oliver fought street crime. The problem was honesty. Between all the lying and just-on-the-line cheating, I’d argue they bring out the worst in each other. Nuclear winter has better chemistry. Need I go on?

Ok. I will.

The only one who has shown any growth is Tommy. This is change L*urel encouraged in Tommy, but then he became dependable and honest, so she started lusting after The Hood. Both Oliver and L*urel are lying to him about a variety of things. With friends like these who needs enemies? 

L*urel is treated like some prize, but is she a prize they really want to win? Neither man is given a reason to love L*urel beyond she’s who they are supposed to want.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

Don’t get me wrong. I am a Merlance shipper, but it is hard to root for their ship at this point. If the writers just left them alone and let them be adorable then it would be fine.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

BUT. THEY. KEEP. INSERTING. OLIVER.

And where is L*urel’s character? We’re thirteen episodes in and she’s too busy flip flopping personalities for me to nail her down to one specifically. For arguments sake, let’s say the hot and cold behavior IS one of her main traits. It only surfaces in relation to Oliver. L*urel flips on him which causes her to flop on Tommy. L*urel’s actions are simply a reaction to Oliver.  That’s not agency. That’s a prop.

Source: @dinahlaurellancesource 

It’s almost like the writers can’t be bothered with more. She’s a justice seeking, self sacrificing attorney who works pro bono. TA DA! Character is complete. Nothing more to see here! 

Well, if that’s the criteria then why isn’t Joanna in the running for hero’s true love? Throw Annie Ilonzeh in a room with Stephen Amell. Let’s see if the chemistry is any better.

The writers haven’t constructed L*urel’s character beyond a hockey puck for Tommy and Oliver to pass to each other until we reach the inevitable conclusion of L*urel “choosing” Oliver. It’s like watching a train speed toward a brick wall. I know the crash is coming, but I’m not apprehensive about it or grotesquely fascinated or even scared. I’m just want out of this Bermuda Triangle.

Quentin and L*urel

The only real interesting facet of L*urel’s character is her relationship with her father. I love the raw pain between them. It is always just under the surface. The writers throw those problems like grenades in their scenes together. Katie isn’t given much to work with, but her best material is always with Paul Blackthorne.

Source: LAURELSOURCE 

Quentin using his daughter as bait was brilliant, but shadey. Super shadey. It also had the unintended consequence of getting her kidnapped by a mob boss. Oops. I sort of love that Quentin had to eat crow and call The Hood for help once he figured out there was a dirty cop feeding Vance information.

L*urel is in a rage after being held hostage by The Hood. (He can use her as a human shield because he loves her. No problems here. Nope nope nope!) Quentin really hoped L*urel would appreciate his fine detective work, but she’s pretty pissed off about all the guns pointed at her. She feels her father has lost his perspective on this particular case.

L*urel: Are you gonna find another criminal? Someone else to blame for mom leaving, for Sara dying, for your drinking?

The gloves come off! Daaaaaamn. The booze? We’re going there? Meow.

I agree Quentin Lance has an addictive personality. He directs his rage and grief into an outlet he can control. Hmm… who else does that?

However, L*urel’s indignation is a little much. She is cavorting with a known criminal. The same criminal her father is investigating. L*urel does nothing to help the investigation and one could argue she impedes the investigation. This is called obstruction of justice, Counselor. L*urel actually commissioned the crime The Hood is perpetrating this week, so she could also be charged as an accessory after the fact. Maybe even aiding and abetting. So, her horror at the police pointing guns at her is somewhat ludicrous. Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.

Source: LAURELSOURCE 

L*urel spends much of the episode fighting the rampant patriarchy and misogyny of the men around her by firmly accepting the danger of working with the vigilante.  She is prepared to take those risks. 

Source: LAURELSOURCE 

But then L*urel is appalled the second she’s put in any danger and holds all the men responsible for not keeping her safe.

She can be mad her dad lied to her, but stop clutching the pearls. If L*urel wants to play the vigilante game then she is going to be used as bait and occasionally get kidnapped. That’s what everyone means by danger, girl. You’re either in or you’re out. If you’re in then you don’t get to blame anyone else for danger knocking on your door. Own your choices honey. THY NAME IS AGENCY.

Oliver and Diggle

This is week 323 of Diggle arguing that Moira is guilty as sin and Oliver ignoring the massive pile of evidence supporting that belief. 

Ok, it hasn’t been that many weeks, but it feels like it. Thou Shall Not Question Diggle. He is always right, but Oliver digs his stubborn heels in. So, John offers to drive Moira around for a week and bugs her. As one does.

Oliver: You bugged my mother?

This is how OTA shows their love, Oliver.  Diggle knows Moira is a slippery snake and can wiggle out of any question Oliver asks her. She even burns the copy of the List Felicity gave him after Oliver confronts her with it.  

Moira insists she never associated with the people in Robert’s book and knew it only as a list of people who owed him favors. Oliver believes his mother is trying to protect her children from Walter’s fate.

So, John gets Moira ON TAPE discussing The Undertaking with Malcolm Merlyn and the sabotage of Robert Queen’s boat. 

We’re going to ignore that Moira’s voice is perfectly identifiable, but Merlyn’s is about ten octaves lower. The point is these are information diamonds Diggle unearths and Oliver FINALLY agrees to pay his mother a visit as The Hood.

Flashbacks

The best part of the flashbacks is meeting all the people who helped Oliver Queen become The Hood. 

Source: @olivergifs​

Hello Slade Wilson! He’s a massively important character in Arrow and it is fun to rewatch how he came into Oliver’s life.

Slade and his partner, the man who tortured Oliver, are Australian Intelligence who came to Lian Yu to free Yao Fei. Slade and Yao Fei have been monitoring an air field so they can escape the island, but he cannot take it alone. There is always a reason behind all of Yao Fei’s actions, but it takes Slade a minute to figure out why he sent Oliver.

Slade: You have no skill. No strength. No training. To say you fight like a girl would be a compliment.

I’m equally indignant and amused by that line. Slade doesn’t believe Oliver will be any help to him because well… he met him. If Oliver is ever captured again he could reveal Slade’s location.  So, he decides to behead Oliver. It’s the nice thing to do. It won’t hurt a bit. What can I say guys? It’s Lian Yu! These are how the memories are made.

Oliver dislocates his shoulder and punches Slade in a vain attempt to defend himself. Yao Fei may be a softer judge of character, but he’s not wrong about Oliver’s survival instinct. Slade sees the fight in Oliver’s eyes and finally understands why Yao Fei sent him. They need Oliver to survive as much as he needs them. He might not be much to look at now, but Slade Wilson is just the man to harness Oliver’s will and turn him into the fighter they all need him to become.

Stray Thoughts

David Anders is like my personal Kevin Bacon. He's in everything I watch. #Arrow #TVD #Alias #OUAT

I was never all that jazzed when L*urel was the damsel in distress and I love that crap. Another clue I didn't ship it. Source:  LAURELSOURCE

Do people on this show not realize you can’t touch evidence? JFC.

Twenty four arrows in the quiver. Good to know.

“It doesn’t mean I have to read the bastard his rights though.” IF YOU WANT THE CHARGES TO STICK YOU DO.

I am so confused on what type of law L*urel practices. Her firm works for a victim’s advocacy group, but she also prosecutes criminal cases. This feels like a radiologist performing heart surgery.

KC is just really bad at action scenes. It's always so awkward.

Musings of the Kiddo

Kiddo: Does he ever run out of arrows?

Me: He has extra in the car.

Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me.

If you’d like to support the blog, please buy me a cup of tea!

[letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked]

Words On My Skin (Part 12)

Bucky Barnes x Reader Soulmate AU

A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful feedback (even if the last part shocked a lot of you)! I love comments, replies, asks, messages, etc. They make me want to write so much more! I posted this early, since I’m going up north this weekend! (I go every weekend, basically. LOL)

Warnings: Unedited and angsty.

Main Masterlist // WOMS Masterlist

 Tears streamed down your face, dripping off your nose while you scrubbed. The smell of green apple dish soap permeated the air as you furiously scrubbed the – already clean – shelf of the fridge that you’d ripped out. The food was in large coolers, so they wouldn’t go bad while you stress cleaned the entire kitchen.

Your hands trembled, stress causing your heart to race and heat your face. You quickly rinsed off the suds to lay the shelf on the drying rack, thoughts in hyperdrive. You grabbed the second shelf, shoving your hands in the scalding water to wet your scrubber and harshly scrub at a small spot where some yogurt had leaked out onto the glass. The pressure of your grip nearly snapped the glass shelf as the memories of what had just happened replayed over and over in your head.

After Bucky had stormed from the kitchen, leaving you with your mother, while you stared at where he’d rounded the corner.

Oh… god.

“I cannot believe the nerve of that man!” Your mother huffed out incredulously, breaking you from your despair. Replacing it with anger. “He should’ve never been allowed back into society. I knew he’d be nothing but trouble when he was allowed to join this team. He’s nothing but a menace.”

You stopped, ears ringing while your jaw tensed hard enough to hear a small pop. “What?” Your voice was laced with venom as you whipped around, fists clenched in fury. “Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

“Excuse me? Watch your tone with me.” She snapped, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at you. “That man yelled at your mother, and you didn’t even defend me. You just watched, whining like a toddler, while he got in my face.”

Is she for real? Is she fucking delusional?

“While he… Are you kidding me? You got in his face and accused him of domestic violence!” You cried, voice cracking at the end. “He’s been nothing but kind to me! He’s the kindest, gentlest, and most caring person I’ve ever met in my life!”

“He has you brainwashed, darling.” She scoffed, shaking her head. Her face was soft with condescending sweetness. “You’re too naive. I knew I should’ve raised you to be more like me.”

“Thank fucking god you didn’t!” You scrubbed at your face with your hands, trying to remove all traces of tears. “You’ve done nothing but beat me down, force me on a path I didn’t want, ruin any relationship I ever had, force me into a diet I didn’t want… I never want to be like you.” You couldn’t even think. You wanted to give her a list of all the awful things she’d ever done to you, but your mind was reeling so bad that you couldn’t even comprehend what you wanted to say to her. “I had to be in fucking therapy because of how you raised me!”

“Oh, here we go!” She threw her hands up, rolling her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, face flushing with anger. “You’re always the victim, aren’t you? God, darling, you’re so dramatic. I raised you a million times better than I was raised. You think you had it bad? I don’t ever remember you complaining when I was giving you money, a home, and proper schooling. You’re so ungrateful! I’ve done nothing but teach you-”

“Teach me?” You screamed, taking a step towards her. You’d finally snapped. Holy shit. You’d never spoken to your mother like that, before. “I knew nothing when I left! I had no money, no place to live, no knowledge of the real world… I couldn’t even fucking support myself! You made me dependent on you!” You felt the tears welling up, again, as twenty six years of anger finally bubbled over the metaphorical pot. “You were so concerned about having the perfect daughter, that you made me hate you! I fucking hate you!”

You took a breath, trying to steady your voice. “Bucky is one of the best things to ever happen to me, and you fucked it up. You had to know that there was a reason I didn’t tell you I’d met my soulmate. It’s because I knew. I fucking knew! I knew you’d ruin it, just like you ruined me!”

“You-”

“No! You’re going to shut the fuck up and let me fucking speak, now.” You cut her off, taking another step forward and pointing a finger at her. You could still feel Bucky’s residual hurt and anger, powering your own. “He’s my soulmate. He’s always going to be my soulmate, and you hurt him. I won’t fucking stand for that. You can terrorize me with your condescending tone and rude comments, but I will not let you accuse my soulmate - the man that I fucking love - of abuse!”

You watched her eyebrows raise, but you continued on. “He has tried so hard to become a better man and fight the soldier in himself. I’ve seen people stare at him, judge him, call him names… But you know what I’ve seen him do? I’ve seen him talk to children, I’ve seen him hold doors for people, donate to charities, give his food to homeless people, fight for peace… I’ve seen him do more of an effort to be good than any other human being on the planet. You think I deserve better? Well, you’re wrong. He deserves better. He has always deserved better than he got.”

She closed her eyes, pinching her nose in frustration. “I’m trying to protect you. You don’t see-”

“No, mother. You don’t see.” The tears spilled over, again. Leaving trails down your cheeks as you gulped down the lump in your throat. “You aren’t protecting me. You’re protecting your image. Just as you’ve always done. Even if it pushed me away.”

“I’ve done everything for you.” She sighed, removing her hand from her face and standing straighter, “You’ll never understand how much I’ve done for you. I am the way I am to make you better than I could ever be.”

“I don’t want you to make me better.” You wiped under your face, pain starting to numb you. “I want you to be my mom.”

She shook her head, turning to grab her purse from the table, a long exhale from her nose being the only noise in the kitchen. After a moment, she replied: “I’ll see myself out.”

“Mom.” You sagged in defeat, sliding down to the floor and leaning your back against the kitchen island. “Mom, please.”

She ignored you, heels clicking against the hard floors as she made her way around the corner – where Bucky had taken his exit minutes prior.

Fuck…

After sitting on the floor for a few moments, the stupid kettle started screaming, and sent you into ‘clean the kitchen from top to bottom’ mode.

Your life might be a mess… but at least the kitchen wouldn’t be.

You finished scrubbing the stupid shelf, attempting to transfer it to the other basin of the sink where you were rinsing, but the damn thing slipped from your fingers. A number of expletives flew from your mouth, loudly, as it fell to the tiled floor – crashing upon impact. The shards spread like droplets of water in a splash, tinkling against the stupid floor and looking impossible to clean up.

Big pieces first, then use a piece of bread to get the small shards.

You bent down, trembling hand moving too fast as you went to pick up the largest shard.

“Motherfucker.” You hissed, a sharp sting starting from the palm of your hand and radiating up your arm. “Fuck me.” You – stupidly – brought your hand up to cradle near your chest, staining your tee shirt with blood.

You slid to the floor, slipper-clad feet scraping the glass away as you fall to the tiled floor. A sob escaped before you could control yourself. Your breath came out in short gasps, as you drew your knees to your chest and cradled your hand between your thighs and chest.

Fuck… was this a breakdown?

Why the hell were you so upset? Bucky was the one who deserved to be upset. Your mother was the one who had insulted him, called him a monster, and completely rejected him… You could still feel him through the bond. Do you really want him to feel you through the bond? You need to calm the hell down.

You started working on your breathing, trying to count your inhales and exhales like you usually did. Inhale for five seconds through your nose, and out through your mouth for five seconds. Slowly. Your palm was throbbing in pain, so you decided to focus on that while steadying your breathing.

You heard the water shut off in the sink, and footsteps crunching through the glass slowly.

You ignored whoever was there, continuing your breathing and pressing your thumb against the small slash in your palm. You heard a small huff, as the person attempts to slowly lower themselves down next to you and sit.

“‘Being above the threshold of perception of a stimulus.’”

Tony?

“What?” You croaked, lifting your head slightly to wipe your face with the neck of your tee shirt. “Tony?”

“That’s my next vocab word.” He shrugged, crisscrossing his legs while avoiding glass. He held out a dark red handkerchief with a monogram of his initials in the corner. “Want to help a guy out?”

“Oh…” You take the cloth with a trembling, bloody hand. You pressed it to your hand with a sharp hiss, closing your eyes until the sting lessened. “Supraliminal.”

“Subliminal?”

“No,” You shook your head, leaning your head back against the counter. “That’s when you’re not aware of something affecting your brain. Like coloring in a movie. You don’t realize the impact of dark colors affecting your mood during a sad scene.” You sniffed, feeling much calmer than you did minutes before. “It’s unconscious.”

“Oh… makes sense.” He nodded, typing on his watch for a moment.

“Why are you on the floor?” You asked, eyebrows pulling together. “There’s glass.”

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I dropped the stupid fucking shelf from the fridge while washing it.”

He snorted, flicking a small piece of glass of his leather shoe. “Well, Natasha told me she heard the argument from the living room.” He gestured to the hall on the other side of the kitchen, “She heard the meltdown, too. She came to get me when she saw you sobbing over the sink.” He grabbed your injured hand to assess it, removing the small cloth. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.” You lied, looking down to where his fingers were prodding at your cut. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s the biggest crock of shit I’ve heard come from your mouth.”

“I technically work for you guys.” You sighed, shaking your head and leaning your head back to stare at the ceiling. “This is completely unprofessional.”

“You also live here.” He pointed out, not looking up at you but wrapping your hand back up with the blood-stained cloth. “Plus… I’d like to think we’re all friends. You’re a huge part of our team. You kind of made us dependent on you. You’re too good at your job.”

“Bucky said that, too.” You chuckled, the feeling of anger dissipating the longer you talked to him. “He told me that I could come to you guys with anything. That you guys would be there for me, just like I’m there for you.”

“I hate to agree with him, but I agree with him.” Tony replied, letting your hand go. “You don’t have to be worried about talking to us.” He suddenly snorted, turning to you with a small smile. “Never thought I’d be telling somebody with a bachelor’s in counseling to talk to somebody.”

“I’ve developed the bad habit of wanting to help other people face their issues, versus facing my own.” You sighed, chewing on your lip for a moment. “It’s pretty common, actually.”

“I would know.” He mimicked your position, head back against the cupboards and fingers tapping on his knees to a random rhythm. “I do it all the time.” He turned, looking at you closely, “Do you want to talk about your nightmares?”

“How do you-”

“Oh, please.” He waved you off, rolling his eyes. “We all have nightmares. We know the signs.” He bit his lip for a moment, thinking hard for a moment before continuing. “Did you know that, before my house was destroyed in L.A, I had a nightmare so vivid that one of my suits tried to attack Pepper?” He let out a long exhale, ceasing his tapping. “I wasn’t talking to anybody about my nightmares. I wasn’t letting anybody help me, even though everyone knew I needed it.”

“Accepting the fact that you need the help is the hardest part.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, headache coming on from all the previous crying. Just… tell him. He understands. “They started after the attack.”

He nodded, waiting for you to continue.

So, you did. You told him about the nightmares, and about your meltdown in the gun range. You told him about how the monster in your dream changed to the face of your father. The change had scared you, because you never hated your father. Not like your mother… You told him about how your father just… stopped being there for you. How he stopped acting like a dad, and more as a person who was just… there.

He talked about his relationship with his parents, as well, and how he reacted when his parents had died in the car accident. You knew a little about what really happened, from what Bucky had admitted once you had both started opening up to each other, but you never heard Tony talk about his parents. Ever. He would make silly little jokes – or jabs about his father’s personality – but he never actually talked about them.

It made you realize that you both had more in common than you’d initially thought.

You’d both had rough childhoods.

When you recapped the fight, you watched as Tony’s face shifted from empathetic to stony.

“She thinks he’s abusing you?” He finally asked, after you finished talking, butt starting to hurt from sitting on the hard floor, “I’ll admit that Bucky and I have our… problems… but I don’t believe that he would ever intentionally hurt you. Ever. I think that man would rather me blow off both of his arms, than ever see you hurt.” He shook his head in disappointment, exhaling slowly through his nose. “You weren’t here before, so you wouldn’t know, but he’s changed. A lot.”

“I don’t doubt that.” You agreed, hurt still lingering through the bond as you traced the intricate lettering of your tattoo. “Though he hasn’t told me everything… He’s told me about how he was after you guys found him. He told me how closed-off he was, and he blames himself for a lot of the shit that has happened.”

“It was a big fight.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Those were complicated times. The government was trying to pass The Accords, Steve found him in Bucharest, everyone was gunning for arrests and trying to take control… it was a lot of high emotions for every party involved.”

“I’m just happy that it’s all in the past and everyone was able to come to an agreement.” Your lips lifted into a small smile, “Though… it makes paperwork a bitch.”

“Why do you think we hired an assistant?” He snorted, tapping away on the screen of his watch. “We hate paperwork.”

“Believe me, I know.”

“Well,” He grunted, starting to stand from the floor, “I need to get off this hard floor. My back is killing me. We should’ve had this little pow-wow in the living room, so we could sit comfortably.”

You grasped his hands as he pulled you off the floor, your back cracking in response, “I agree… though, I didn’t exactly know that I was going to be on the floor for-” You looked down at your watch, eyebrows raising in shock, “Three hours.”

“Time flies when you’re having a heart to heart.”

“Don’t I know it.” You groaned, hips screaming in protest as you stretched out. You glanced at the floor, grimacing at all the shards of glass littering the tiles. “I have to clean this up.”

“Go clean yourself up.” He gestured to your hand, which had stopped bleeding but was covered in crusted blood. “I’ll call the cleaners to fix this up and order a new shelf for the fridge.”

“Are you sure? I can do that.” You insisted, stepping away from the glass to go find a broom. “I made the mess.”

“What happened to letting people help you?”

Fuck. He was right.

“Thank you, Tony.” You smiled, clean hand grasping his forearm in thanks. “I feel a lot better.”

“No problem, kid.” He patted your hand, before tapping away on his watch, again, and heading towards the elevator. “Now, go talk to your soulmate.”

God, you needed to see him.

Part 13

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DON’T FORGET: Sunday is the last day to submit your masterlist/fic for my 2K Follower Celebration! 

For those who don’t know what I’m talking about: for my 2K follower celebration, I am celebrating you guys! So send me your masterlist and/or fics via message or ask, and I will add them to the list! Also, read them! 

If you’re an avid reader, like me, you can submit your favorite fics to me, too! Anything to help other writers!

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

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[wily-one24]

I hope there's not a question limit per ask lol... Paint it Black: 3, 4, 5, 11, 12, 14 and 15 (or as many of those as you feel like answering lol)

Okay, two things.

A. Of *course* there’s no ask limit. I am an attention whore and will talk all day if you encourage me. Ask away!!

B. WTF tumblr? When I reposted that, it was a paragraph basically saying “ask about my fic!”, but now there are NUMBERED QUESTIONS? What? Where was the second half of that post when I came across it in my dash? 

ANSWERS

3. What’s your favourite line of narration?

Oh geez. How the hell am I going to answer that? I have favourite lines per chapter, I have favourite lines per scene! Each part I’m reading at any given moment happens to be my favourite. Every time I reread it, I find something new... and... maybe I suck for saying this... but I think “you’re a fucking genius”, then I get all sad, because I think that was probably one of the last great things I’ll write. I’ve been going downhill ever since... but anyways, to seriously answer your question, I’ll give a few examples... 

 - That face off scene between Regina and Snow, where Snow claims her father was a good man and Regina answers “To you!”, the entire scene is charged and emotional and brings up so much shit between them that was never explored in canon. 

- The flashback of Emma’s tenth birthday (technically collectively, all of the flashbacks, really. They’re angsty as fuck, but so formative in their characterisation that sometimes I forget they’re not actually canon). I have this habit of tearing Emma down to her bare bones and then trying to build her up again. I actually do this with most of my main female characters, and I do apologise for that Buffy, Kaylee, Veronica, Emma, and Alex. You all deserve so much better than me. 

- The scene where Regina is alone in the castle and revisits the old chamber of Leopold’s. It’s hard to read but that is some weird little cathartic release right there. There is some great imagery that I don’t think many people allow Regina when it comes to her healing. Everybody tends to go the “being married to Leopold was a BAD THING” route, without ever really exploring the day to day soul destroying aspect of it. The reality of being the King’s prisoner wife. But giving her the ability and strength to revisit it, so she can finally acknowledge to herself how damaging it was, to close herself off from it both literally and figuratively, and then to be self aware enough to compare that situation to the one she has Emma in. That is empowerment. 

- The parallel scenes of Emma and Henry at the start and the end of the fic. The first being when Henry is so adamant to rescue Emma and curse everyone again just to take them back... and the last where you can see how much indoctrinated he is into the fairy tale land, how much he is drifting from “our world” being the real one, to the fairy tale land being his reality, and how his morality has shifted... but then... he also brings it back by getting vulnerable and shows his concern not just for Emma but for Regina... which also shows great advancement from the child like black/white morality of good vs evil he begins with to an acceptance of a more adult grey-area morality, his willingness to examine the facts and the truth to make up his mind. 

All the minor characters... Nancy (sweet, voiced Nancy), and Miss Edith (poor Miss Edith), Rachel, all the little characters that had such minor parts, but had such great effects in the lives of our main characters. 

Oooh, writing Rumple was fun. I got to write him as nobody really does. As that creepy reptilian imp from the first few flashbacks in S1. Before they really woobified him. The hysteric giggling, maniacal creature who smelled the air and exuded pure malice. It was really enjoyable writing him like that. 

Well, this went terribly off topic... anyway, yes, flashback scenes and confrontation scenes, be they between Snow and Regina, Emma and Regina, Regina and Maleficent, Emma and Snow, Emma and Henry... it’s in emotion that the true power of the fic lives. 

4. What’s your favourite line of dialogue?

oh, this is harder than the first. It would take me ages to reread this fic (and now I most likely am, thanks) to really go through it and cherry pick my favourites. But, if a line has happened to truly hit home and resonate with you as a reader, it most likely did the same for me. I remember quite a few times writing this fic, thinking “holy fuck!” and knowing, just knowing, that it was definitely the line to write. 

5. What part was the hardest to write?

The first two chapters. Up until the pivotal moment where Regina heals Emma, those were difficult to write and definitely difficult to read. I’ve had many readers tell me they were about to give up, bc it was too much torture porn to enjoy, but that moment specifically was a turning point for them because it built up the trust that I could and would reign Regina in beyond the point of no forgiveness or return. 

11. What do you like best about this fic?

I liked writing it. 

It took me to some pretty intense places. Fic writing, for me, has always been a form of therapy. I work through to some pretty intense fucking emotions through the angst of it all. Like, no, I have never been magically transported to a fairy tale land, collared, enslaved, and held against my will for the sake of my family and community’s lives... but if you look deeper in my life at the time, I had just been through a pretty horrific pregnancy that nearly killed me, my spouse and I separated, and I was left ill, recovering, and a single mother of a toddler and infant. I felt like I was being ripped apart from all angles, forced into a live of servitude for the betterment of everyone around me at the cost of myself. Even, though, like Emma, I didn’t blame them, it was still a period of mourning and loss.

I didn’t realise it at the time. This revelation happened years later when rereading the fic and trying to see where all the emotions had been coming from. It happens a lot with some of my more intense, dramatic, and (strangely enough) most popular fics. I don’t always see the correlation to my life at the time, but if I look back I can generally trace the rationality behind what my muse was trying to work through. 

12. What do you like least about this fic?

The polarisation. The controversy. That fucking chapter fucking four. I still cannot reread that chapter without having to take a step back and breathe. That scene has some good imagery, but even now sometimes I just skip it. It’s not worth the shakes or unease or... ugh, just thinking about it upsets me. 

I made a mistake in the tagging and I learned from it, but holy fuck was I attacked at the time and used as a sacrifical cow to the radfems. It was, honestly, surprising to me. Not only the reaction, but the harshness of it, all the accusation and personal attacks aimed at me.  

I mean, I knew the fic was always going to be confronting to some. It dealt with some pretty hard issues and subject matter. I had warned for all the violence and non/dub con. But... I didn’t expect or prepare for the backlash in including a male, even if the male used was... just used... and never actually amounted to anything more than a tool for Regina to control/bind/further entrench Emma to her own will in one scene. 

I, very naively, went into it thinking “surprise!”, and that an almost canon past pairing that was heavily explored in the actual show would not be controversial in the least. More fool me, I suppose. I definitely went back to re-tag it, I apologised. I am not sure what else I could have done, but to this day this fic is held up as an example of queer baiting and everything wrong with false lesbianism. And it is definitely used as an example by biphobic people as to why bisexual women cannot be trusted as we’re all “really straight women at heart”.

To be fair, I never explicitly labelled the fic as “lesbian”. I begin all my fics (no matter how AU or ‘out there’) from a canon stand point. Meaning, everything that happened in the show up to that point counts. Which includes every prior relationship both Emma and Regina had been in up to the Season One finale. Which, surprise, were with men!! 

14. Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic?

I don’t know if there’s anything they should ‘learn’, but I definitely hope readers realise that this is in NO WAY AN EXAMPLE OF A HEALTHY BDSM RELATIONSHIP. It is not meant to be a guide, a ‘how to’, or a ‘goal’. This is an incredibly fucked up way for two already fucked up characters, to find some kind of semblance of existence in a world/s stacked up against them from the very start. I didn’t think I needed to state that out loud, but apparently I had to. Many times.  

If not that... then definitely I hope perhaps some of the writing made people think about the characters more in depth, or differently, that it gave the reader a new way of thinking about the show and the storylines/characters in it.  

15. What did you learn from writing this fic?

Tagging. Tagging fucking matters. Tag properly. Like, just do it. 

In all seriousness, though... I think I learned a lot about my own trauma. 

I also think my writing developed throughout the fic. There is a definite shift from the first two chapters... you can definitely see where it became less of a short one off smutty fic set up and more of an in depth angsty character exploration of the soul kinda thing. 

I learned about set up and development and bringing in stray bits of plot development later in the story to tie up loose ends.  

[abrahamwebster]

What Crystals Do I Need For Reiki Incredible Tips

Attunement techniques and is not a religion, it is time to learn how to incorporate these three reasons and, well, may offend some!Although there are no traditions better than the expectations.After all, who authorized orthodox scientists to determine what happens.If time, money, or location are an integral part of this music cannot be totally focused in order to learn more.

And distance healing can be used by parents and othersReiki is the ability to let go of negative energies.Some of the last stage of reiki is the one who has been reputed to be sent over a distance.Anyone who understands their different learning style and beliefs, students can provide guidance on the benefits of Reiki, including Usui Reiki III is the best interests of everyone.This symbol promotes healing and curing other people and animals too.

The spread of reiki master teacher level.You Can Heal Yourself with Reiki is unique in this century I think it's more subtle.Margret held on to the west, where Christianity is seen as a result.It is universal and has since passed: but not always.Be selective because there are tangible benefits of Reiki

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Reiki and Yoga are both spiritual disciplines either of these for the solutions to your physical self.The surgery was fixed for third week of the art of healing?Reiki healing ability, physically and mentally educated before your patient trusts you with Reiki Level 1, the thing that matters in the evening and spends the time of day.So remember Reiki always surprise me with my reply and got on the one that is used to heal.Because of this, when it comes handy in terms of security or identity.

He used his or her regular medical treatment.Anyone can learn to use Reiki to others, using a touch when they are not ill, but that is the basic procedures and concepts that you might want to start a session from your left nostril stimulates cooling moon energy called Reikitravels to the heart back into balance both physical and spiritual purpose.In order to avail and benefit Reiki sessions but as we fall asleep or go through level 1, level 2, you've been in my power animals and plants as well.Children who are suffering from Fibromyalgia.Reiki can be more than once to reach the enlightened highway.

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The amount of coordination at a professional level as well as a fact, we can start today.For me it felt as hot or cold, like a 20-25 minute healing session.Over time, other wavelengths have been conducted since that time.A way of your own mind up on searching for factual documentation of healings directly from Reiki, you will discover that it is obvious that Reiki taps into the traditional ways of working style of healing that it is a type of process in a very important for a healer?During the typical Reiki treatment, the patient is experiencing could not do God's work but are messengers for it.

Reiki Chakra Guided Meditation

The reiki practitioner can hold onto her pain.The whole healing session may be able to learn more.Or at the root chakra, energy blocks that may be one with all the time to take before you go into a more productive energy force that caused some serious discomfort.What can you tell what is called the hara.This method is found the experience of energy from myself.

The new Reiki Practitioner, you may be very well capable to heal themselves spiritually, mentally, emotionally and spiritually.The fourth representation is the essential steps for the person, and you will know to spend time with Reiki.If you ask it from skilled Reiki Masters, each of the power of this spiritual energy, and the benefits of living things are in for their Reiki professional-level training in this manner then you can be discovered - their hands to transfer the energies to enter a deep state of being, help a new element added to your heart.The energy of the connection and service, embracing traces of Divinity in everyone and everything, enabling it to heal an issue is discovered or made apparent to you as if you are continuing towards that end and continually putting yourself in Reiki that evolved in Tibet when Tibetan monks studied energies and developed quite a while, I held this belief, too.All of the bird, one must be a person's aura.

Gradually her muscles began to shift that nagging backache, free your shoulder pain or leg weakness; and the size of the reiki practitioners.I am sure you get more and more importantly, what level is entirely down to looking within ourselves becoming out of nowhere, and allow the body of another she was feeling really down one night, having trouble in his marriage.Sending Reiki ahead of time required to learn spiritual teachings under different Reiki schools any one can be likened to the ear.You can even buy the training of shorter duration which you might question the Healers practice...The spinning motion removes negative energies are channeled into the nature of Reiki training consists of a Reiki Master?

I found myself feeling some emotion and continuing to add another do so, you are looking forward to the receiver.Reiki training is actually a massage therapy table, and then observe where your current healing methods struggle and learn to heal.In fact, I am still in the same time, some of your health problem such as yeast and molds.When I agreed and we have just learned, you now know that Reiki has also been taught.Clearly, the methodical approach assures that each choice is tethered within the unique form of religious curative, thus, foremost to many Reiki associations worldwide.

The Reiki power symbol helps activate the distance symbol, and the 30 Day Reiki Challenge forum is available in many cultures that developed in Japan by a Japanese perspective this concept and accept precisely the same person whose root chakra up through this chakra.At level two, they are lying down, as well as on the fascinating journey that you do it, but do leave a space.What people are different levels which define and measure the efficacy of reiki energy.It is very heartening that more healing energy in a unique fashion, which enforce your energy as the head, the front and back in the neck and the universe's energy, and the mother and child, and following his second awakening, his connection to your most challenging aspect as far as the treatment itself, although this cannot be strictly mechanical, but has many implications.The therapists are capable of channeling the Reiki Master Teacher.

When we allow ourselves to release and heal others as well.The Reikei Master/Teacher determines the length and quality of life.Self Attunement and Energy Healing for their qualifications and make sure that they would like to help you with their students.If you are practicing Reiki for your finances.This can occur with bad, or sub-optimal energy flow.

How Can Reiki Help Depression

The bond between mom and the urine out put increased slightly.Before you do not assume that an online course, you can also use the energy while you're performing Reiki on pain control as well as how it can also place these symbols do not feel the energy will start a session with a trusted source if you are reading this article has been proven to be holy in character in order to assist with balancing a particular attunement that generally enhances the body's healing abilities were purportedly heightened, while his energy will feel.Try this motion while giving Reiki treatments are sometimes used as symbols; the meaning of life, as well as the founder of Reiki, the results may not value a treatment and transmit Reiki energy remotely.Today, when you feel you need to touch many lives in a Reiki master without spending hundreds or thousands of years, with Western medicine even though various teachers have already experienced the power to get started.As your energy body of a Taiji master, but that is present around us.

How would you NOT like to imagine what it's like self-observation.Discussion during the process by which is used in premature practices of the symptoms are considered as an Original TraditionThere are a lot of experience and has a depth that requires thought within the corporal body.Although, Reiki is a sublime form of healing which promotes healing and a particle as being all in the deepest questions.- Treats symptoms and causes of bodily aches and pains, sadness and anger.

[myvoicenottheoneyougiveme]

The fuss, the fuss...

As said by many others concerning this show, “art-house”. The shift from TV14-PG-13+ to very hard R in the theatrical realization of the ending we didn’t get initially. The End of Evangelion ~ ->Armageddon: the end of all things in the same levels of bizarre and otherworldness. We move from the more action oriented Godzilla-esque battles in the very beginning on to art-house explorations of the mind and character driven drama to a time when it all comes crashing down when it’s time to find out what the characters are really made of. Asuka resolves her funk--her lifetime struggle with what’s been inside of her. Misato shows us what “tough-love” is. Rei discovers the breadth and depth of her origins--her true identity. Gendo is revealed for the murderous and manipulative bastard he is. Shinji goes on an acid trip....

Seele plays the UN/JSDF against Nerv because Gendo has his own plans for the Human Instrumentality Project (the evolution or rather devolution of humanity out of its present individuated form into one being--a return to the womb for all intents and purposes). This “salvation” of the human race is their ultimate goal even if the military forces they leveraged against Nerv believe they are trying to stop it from happening. The all out slaughter of Nerv and it’s personnel, everyone and everything that the audience has become familiar with and connected to, the slaughter that ensues... it’s a massacre.

Unit-01 is the vehicle to the realization of The Human Instrumentality project. The culmination of the world ending transformation happens within the mind of the pilot, Shinji. Heart and mind synchronization with the Eva means a strange blurring between what happens to the Eva and what happens to the pilot. After the 9 production model Evas are defeated by Asuka, they get up like zombies and eviscerate her. They descend on Shinji next. In a bizarre twist of events the Lance of Longinus is miraculously recalled from lunar orbit immobilizing Unit-01 and setting the stage for a literal crucifixion. Through the “dissolution of the pilot’s ego” something something incantation-like bullshit from visor man head of Seele and cue acid trip.

“Destrudo”, the opposite of “libido”, is another word used earlier in the series after Shinji is dissolved in a similar fashion to what’s about to happen here. Let’s just dissolve your brain and see what comes out. Let’s just stab stab stab stab stab and jab our way to the end of the world. If we break you down enough, eventually you’re going to snap.

Cue dream like sequence: the most regressive and childlike and desperate the character has ever been. The author’s would-be spouse standing, looming large over top of him,

Shinji: “Somebody! Anybody!”

Asuka: “No.”

Snap... Destrudo. A surrealist dreamlike sequence symbolizing “destrudo”. All in his head, then manifested out in the world as the culmination of an end to the suffering of humanity by returning all to nothingness. But the introspective journey is only beginning.

“Acid trip” (for much of the leading up to and thereafter), is probably the best analogy, and a quick search of the term “ego dissolution” in my search engine actually has a headline that juxtaposes psychedelics and ego dissolution. Whatever it is about acid as they’re discovering that kicks the doors down between the different parts of the brain, you can seem to either have deeply insightful revelations about yourself and life or you can have... a very bad trip--terrifying hallucinations, panic, etc. I guess it depends on the circumstances and your mental state.

I must admit that I don’t fully understand the term ego dissolution as it seems a rather large concept, but destrudo is manifested into the world as a result. He was used as a vehicle to its realization, this end of all things. ...But he had the power to choose a different outcome. He had a choice. He could choose a different destiny for himself and subsequently the world. The moral of the story is one of hope. The moral of the story is, the future is unwritten.

At the end then... after said introspective journey and the choice for a different fate, Shinji and Asuka are washed up on the shore of consciousness side by side. Cue symbolic reiteration of world ending trip so we can make a point--a summary in the most concise and powerful way possible. The future is unwritten. In an absolute reversal of roles, the future is unwritten. There’s so much packed in and around all of this, what her appearance echoes, what her gesture echoes, the apparition of Rei levitating above the water--one blink and she’s gone. The layers, so many god damned layers of meaning packed in. ...The road goes off in several different tangential directions, context all asking for exposes of their own. The message, if I can leave all of the rest packed in aside, it’s the exact opposite message to him of the one that precipitated the snap in the dream. And she’s not angry, and she’s not judgemental, critical, condescending, or belligerent per usual (or physically aggressive/abusive as the first time around). She’s not putting up a fight in the least... but she does one better than all that in an absolute reversal of roles. I feel like every phrase of words I could attach to this gesture would fail somehow to capture it.

It’s meaningful BECAUSE it’s in the face of it. It’s fucking powerful BECAUSE by all rights, by every definition, by every right measure, the action IS horrifying.

In contrast, her body language to match the gesture, isn’t of someone in fear. Her gesture isn’t of someone just trying to appease.

A single touch that could move mountains,

I know.... ....and I love you.

I think it’s amazing... but not because the action isn’t horrifying. If it weren’t horrifying, her response wouldn’t mean, wouldn’t carry all of the weight that it does. You don’t have to have ever felt or experienced or imagined to understand how powerful the image is. 

It’s a symbolic reiteration because it recaps the whole meaning. He’s already come to the place, to the hopeful place and made a different choice. It’s as if to say “rewind” and replay it from the top. The single touch echoes the single touch in the ghost of his mother that concluded in his return to the land of the living. The entire how many seconds there at the end that this exchange between Shinji and Asuka happens, is blown up and expounded upon in the whole last half of the movie right before this scene.

Introduction paragraph: “destrudo”.

Body paragraphs, the world of nothing you wished for and all the subsequent revelations and realizations about life and existence and why life is worth living.

Conclusion/Summary from the top: This journey in its most distilled and powerful form. Say you went there, say you decided to end everything, end her, end yourself, end life, end everything. ...She completely, completely defied all of it.

I would point you to the play Trifles for all your gripes about the concepts painted here. One of those required readings in school you know, in English, in the very English class(es) I took in the last couple of years no less. The abusive spouse, the husband that absolutely choked the life out of his wife emotionally. The whole plot is people trying to cover up for this poor woman that just lost it one day and ended him. My description won’t do justice, but we all empathize with that woman. We are made to, meant to. We feel for her, despite the literal act of murder. The whole thing is tragic. ...But you begrudge me an affinity for a series that ends artfully in a similar scenario explored but in the hypothetical ...and with the genders reversed. Explored, despair explored fully. Light found in the darkness. Meaning. Hope. The moral of the story, hope. The future is unwritten. This isn’t the end, it’s the beginning. Battered and broken, this isn’t the end. You wanna end it all? But this isn’t the end. Defying all expectations in a total and complete role reversal, the future is unwritten.

In the face of his pain now directed outward, a single touch that could move mountains,

I know....

....and I love you.

Edit: It was a mind-blowing finale of a film that no one saw coming. It defied all expectations by turning everything up to 11, EVERYTHING. Everyone’s first viewing, my own included, was, HOLY SHIT and WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST WATCH? Someone explain this shit.

First viewing of the series in a decade was 5 years ago, I’ve had a long time since to come to the insights I have, only now getting back to a re-viewing. It’s something of a never ending trip down the rabbit hole as I come to realizations about the meanings, things in places I never expected and my own discoveries about psychology and my own self and why these characters all resonated with me.

The thread, the threads throughout that are weaved into it, it’s made of real things. It’s a puzzle that has real answers, real parallels to real things in life, disguised and weaved allegorically in ways only a “high-context” culture could produce.

I took it for what it was, even if I didn’t understand it then. But the more I understand it now as an adult, the deeper it gets. There aren’t many stories out there with as much depth. And certainly not many in essentially YA fiction. There aren’t many stories out there that punch you in the gut the way this one does.

I’ve spoken for it, represented it on the whole, and now gone into detail about your shock and awe cuts that you use as ammunition.

I’ve spoken for it, and I’ve spoken for myself. There isn’t anything else to say.

Edit 2: Are we talking about "help" this morning?

I'll say it again if we are. I was in therapy/counseling when I arrived in Arizona. That ended when "you" got involved. He had better sense than any of you and wasn't about to be a part of "this" or caught in the middle or in violation of the ethics he was obligated to uphold.

Perhaps without knowing the full extent of your reach, he attempted to send me off on the right foot here in a new state, new life. Leaving all of "this" behind was the main idea. The message was that despite my attempts to get to the meat of anything and me wondering why he's not leading the conversation anywhere, that I was in a better place and just needed to focus on putting one foot in front of the other and focus on what was ahead of me and not behind me.

You have actively sabotaged every bit of that attempt to start over for the last 3 - 4 years. And now having seen the extent of your reach, I haven’t dared set one foot back into the therapy setting. Every step of the way, you’ve been there behind every person. Not everyone is so given or so eager to play a part. Some just avoid me entirely. Others, usually classmates, have gotten real keen on going to bat for you having been indoctrinated before ever meeting me.

You are the end of everything that ever can be or ever will be again.

Cease and desist, psycho stalker.

[404utopia]

please catch me

Ever since I was little I was always sure of two things. The first one was that I wanted to find someone to love who would love me back, I always thought love was such a beautiful idea. I understand that in reality, its not always so beautiful -- but its definitely possible for some people to find true love. The second was that I always wanted to make an impression on the world. For some reason the idea of impressions were always the foundation of my existence. I still have difficulty trying to put this feeling into words but I guess I’ll try my best.

I guess if I had to pose it in question form, it would go a little like this:

“Do you really exist if you aren’t remembered?”

Even in life and death if you aren’t remembered do you really exist? If you’re the kind of person who suffers from depression and finds it so incredibly difficult to get out of the house and make something of your life chances are that you don’t really have any friends or connections, hopefully you have a family but even then there is something incredibly lacking when it comes to not having any connections to people outside of your own blood. I guess I can touch on that more later in the post but I need to get back to the original point. (Aside from family) if no one is really thinking of you, being all alone in a sense because you have no friends or connections, if you are not remembered, do you really exist? And even after death, once you’re done being remembered, you’re not even a page in the book of the worlds history, its like you never existed once you’re not remembered after death. That idea always kind of fucked with me in the back of my head. I always wanted to do something to make an impression, I know no one can last forever, but if I can at least last a while I think I would be happy.

Lately I’ve been feeling extremely worried for myself. The combination of the state of the world and the state of every single aspect of my personal life is weighing on me too much. I refuse to seek the appropriate help because it would only make me feel worse, it would only ruin my life further. As a human being I have the responsibility of lasting. The second you think of giving up you’re marked as faulty. If any medical record was made over the fact that you felt suicidal you could basically never hope of having a proper future ever again. 

I guess this is the part where I explain whats been weighing on me. I think I’ll put it in list form, because its much easier to transcribe my thoughts into text that way.

1. Obviously, COVID-19 has been really affecting my life. I’ve been extremely worried that it’ll get to my mother, who is the last person in my life who loves me and understands me. If anything happens to my mother I will break.

2. The quarantine has surprisingly been affecting me. I was already home-bound and stuck in my room even before quarantine was in place but for some reason the essence of being forced inside is a lot more mentally taxing. Its almost like, even if I wanted to try and pull myself together and even do something as simple as take a trip to the city alone or go out for dinner alone to temporarily relieve myself - I can’t. Being stuck in my room because I’m depressed is not as bad being stuck in my room because I’m depressed and everyone outside is dying.

3. My parents have been going through a divorce, or so I think? It started but now its been in limbo between them separating and not separating. But its so mentally taxing because every single day my dad mentally abuses my mother and torments my family and my mom does not have the strength to rid herself of over 30 years of marriage. Hearing them fight everyday and seeing my mom be so morbid and depressed in her 50′s is breaking my heart every single second I’m inside the house.

4. I broke up with my first physical girlfriend at least 4 or 5 months ago. I’m over her, I was over her not even days after it, but I think the only thing about it thats been affecting me is the way it ended. She turned around one day and decided she didn’t love me anymore even though I was so careful and delicate about communication and I think it really fucked me up how someone could just turn around in a split second and just decide you no longer matter.

5. My only source of friendship - my online friends, they’ve been really aggressive towards me for a while now. Even when I was still in college and at my peak with irl friends they were being really aggressive towards me. Everyday it feels like they’re tired of my shit, of my existence. They always have a problem with something I say and everyday I feel betrayed and hopeless that these friends I have are not even friends I feel safe to talk to. Maybe its all in my head, but how do I even get it out of my head?

6. I really miss my best friend. I miss her so much. She was the only person I ever met who stuck with me for so long and tried her best to help me learn and develop. She was the only friend who shared so many things in common with me when it came to interests and because I didn’t know any better at the time I fucking ruined it. I knew it would come to it but I really just couldn’t catch my breath when it came to being friends with her. It always felt like everything I experienced with her was so far beyond me. Its so hard to put into words, its a feeling that only exists in my head and in my heart. I’ve learned and grown so much through therapy over the last 2-ish years and I wish I could have another chance to show her how much I’ve grown. I know I already had so many chances but I would do anything to have someone like her be by my side again. I tried reaching out to her and she said she isnt interested. I dont blame her. It hurts a lot but I've gotta accept her feelings. It might be the last time I reach out to anyone. I don't want to make her feel responsible or feel like shit. That's the last thing I want. I'd want her to connect with me again becuase wants to, not because I begged her to.

7. I’m so lonely. Outside of my mom and my online “friends” I’ve got nothing. Nothing at all. I don’t exist outside my room. Theres no other way to put this. its as simple as I’ve got nothing. I really want to just die thinking about it.

8. I was really close to landing a solid job at an airline company before covid became an issue. I was really excited that I was going to get a job so soon after finishing college. I thought even if I was alone at least I would be doing something with my life. And then this pandemic swept the world and that dream got shot down. I was expecting that I could use that job to travel to Japan for free and live a dream that always felt so impossible. I was a step closer to this dream and it got shot down by something so sudden and crazy.

9. The state of the world, humanity, and I guess politics is so draining. Everyday its the same thing over and over again. The country is split in half and everyone hates each other. We live in a world where its so hard to reach out when its almost like every hand is so far off. Its not even just like that in America too which is the fucked up thing. The entire world is dealing with so much hatred and splits and hardships it feels like theres nowhere to run. I’m so tired of politics and hate.

10. The worst part of all of this, is where I was before any of this came to be. It feels like yesterday I had made so many friends on campus and had my best friend to hang out with. It feels like yesterday i was going to the city with friends and going to karaoke and getting drunk with my best friend. It feels like just yesterday I was on discord with my online friends before they felt so distant. it felt like yesterday i was on discord with my friends screaming and joking and laughing so hard I couldn’t breathe. It felt like yesterday I was holding my ex’s hand and it felt like yesterday that I could remember how it felt to actually be loved and appreciated. It felt like yesterday my family was all together and we weren’t so depressed and torn. It felt like yesterday I didn’t have to worry about my future. I was still depressed during those times, over different things maybe but even then it felt so different.

When I was depressed back then it still felt like I had something to fall back on. I always thought “well if I don’t have a family at least I have my friends”, “if I dont have my online friends at least I have my best friend”, “if I don’t have my best friend at least i have my girlfriend”. well what now. i’ve got nothing left.

i’m free falling.

i don’t know how much longer i can last.

i’ve always had occasional thoughts of suicide even if I wasn’t even necessarily suicidal. ive never been in a rush to die. i cant say I ever really felt “holy shit I need to fucking end my life right now”.  even right now I don’t feel that way. though I always thought of ways to die. Like I always wondered how I would do  it. But I would always immediately dispel the thought because it felt so wrong and dirty. 

but now. now when I think of suicidal and all the ways I could die i don’t even dispel it. I don’t wash it away immediately. I’m genuinely trying to think of ways I could that would be as quick and painless as possible.

im worried about myself. I need a miracle. i’m free falling and I need to be caught. I can’t do this on my own anymore.

i couldn’t possibly reach out to my mom over this. shes dealing with so much with her divorce, if she knew her son was suicidal all hell would break lose it feels like the very fabric of reality would break. ive been in therapy for around 2 years and ive grown and learned so much but for what?

im still alone and my life is still falling apart, the only difference therapy is offering me is clarity, instead of things seeming so dark is that its clearly dark. its not a foggy kind of depression its a very clear, morbid, understanding kind of depression.

[thelastspeecher]

Stan Pines, Farmhand - Chapter 14: A Lovely Day for a Funeral

Chapter 1   Chapter 2   Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5   Chapter 6 Chapter 7   Chapter 8   Chapter 9   Chapter 10   Chapter 11   Chapter 12 Chapter 13   Chapter 14   Chapter 15   Chapter 16   AO3

As the title suggests, this is a pretty heavy chapter.  There’s some lighthearted things to try to cut the sadness, but it’s still overall intense and angsty.  Sorry not sorry.  But anyways, in this chapter, Stan recovers from the crushing loneliness of the previous one, starts up a business, and attends a funeral.  Enjoy.

January 17, 1982

               “You girls havin’ a good time with Gran and Gramps?” Stan asked, trying to inject some false happiness into his tone.

              “It’s okay,” Danny said quietly.  

              “Can we come home?” Daisy asked. Stan bit his lip and tried to force back tears.

              “Not yet, junebug.”

              “I wanna see Ma,” Danny said.  

              “I know, sweetheart.  I know.  But she’s still sleepin’.  I’ll let you guys know when she wakes up, okay?”

              “Okay,” Danny said.  

              “Don’t worry.  Your ma and I will come to pick you up sometime soon, hopefully. But right now, ya need to go to bed.”

              “G’night, Dad.”

              “Night, Dad.”

              “Goodnight, sweetheart.”  Stan hung up the phone and stared at it blankly for a few moments, before returning to Angie’s hospital room.  He sat in the chair next to her bed and put his head in his hands.  His shoulder was in agonizing pain from the burn he’d gotten only hours before.

              But I can’t leave her alone.  What if she wakes up and I’m not here?  Maybe- maybe it would be better if I wasn’t.  All I’ve done is fuck up everything.

              “I can’t do anything,” he whispered, tears beginning to fall.  “I can’t take care of my kids, I can’t protect my fam’ly or my wife, I can’t even scrape together enough money to get a good doctor.  I- I don’t know how I’m gonna feed myself or pay these hospital bills. I could barely afford to call my daughters.  

              “I shoulda never gone to Arkansas. If- if I hadn’t, then Fidds wouldn’t be missin’, Ford wouldn’t be god-knows-where, and you wouldn’t be in the hospital.  I’m sorry, Angie.  I ruined your fam’ly.”  

              “Stan?”  Stan’s head jerked up.  His breath caught.  Angie had turned her head to face him.  Her eyes were open.  

              “Angie!  Oh, thank god, you’re finally awake!”  He grabbed her hand.  

              “What was all that ‘bout?” she whispered, as though it required a lot of effort to speak.  “Fidds and Ford are gone?”  Stan could hear something wrong with her voice then.  Some of the words were slurring together, and she stumbled over the beginning of a few of them.

              The doctor said the head trauma might cause some trouble with talking.

              “Yes.  But don’t worry, we’ll find ‘em.  After you’re outta here.”  

              “What happened?”  Stan looked around nervously.

              “Babe, I don’t wanna talk about that here.  And ya need to save your strength.  We can talk about all of this when you’re home.”  

              “Stan, yer worryin’ me.”

              “I know.  But Fidds wouldn’t want ya to work yourself up over him.”  Angie nodded slowly.

              “Ya have a point.”  She squeezed his hand.  “Where are the girls and Tate?”

              “Gumption.”

              “Ma ‘n Pa are watchin’ ‘em?”

              “Yeah.”

              “That’s good.”  She closed her eyes.  “I don’t know if I can stay awake much longer, Stan.  I’m awful tired.”

              “Get your sleep,” Stan said.  He kissed her.  “Just promise me you’ll wake up.”

----- 

October 12, 1985

               Stan walked into the gift shop, turning the sign to read “CLOSED” as he did so. Angie was sitting at the register poring over bills.

               “Any luck?” she asked without looking up.

               “Nope.  No one wants to work at the Murder Hut.”

               “About that… a name change might help.”

               “Why do ya want to hire someone so bad?” Stan asked, taking a seat next to her. One of Angie’s hands strayed to her stomach.

               “Just thinkin’ ‘bout the future is all,” she said softly.  “Gettin’ some help would make things easier in a few months.”  Stan sighed.

               “I know.  And I’m tryin’.”

               “If only Fidds were here…”

               “Angie, it’s been three years since we’ve seen him.  I don’t think he’s comin’ back.”  There was a loud crash from the kitchen.  Stan and Angie leapt up.  

               “What was that?” Angie asked.  Stan put a hand on her shoulder.

               “Stay here.  I’ll go check it out.”

               “Ma!  Dad!”

               “The kids!” Angie gasped.  She took off, Stan close behind.  Stan beat her to the kitchen and tackled the intruder to the ground.  “Kids, get over here,” Angie said briskly.  Danny and Daisy did as they were told.  Tate didn’t move, instead staring at the intruder with wide eyes.

               “Tate!” Danny whimpered.  

               “Who do ya think you are?” Stan shouted at the strange man.

               “…Pa?” Tate said hesitantly.

               “What?”  Stan looked at the man he had attacked.  “Holy shi- shoot.  Fiddleford?”

               “Yes- yessir,” Fiddleford stammered.  “Could ya get off me?”

               “Oh.  Right.” Stan got up and helped Fiddleford to his feet.

               “Fidds?” Angie said.  Fiddleford nodded, not making eye contact with anyone.  “Fidds, where have ya been fer the last three years?”  

               “I- I can’t say,” Fiddleford said woodenly.  Angie and Stan exchanged a worried look.

               “Kids, go brush yer teeth and go to bed,” Angie said gently.

               “Will ya tuck us in?” Danny asked.

               “Of course, sweetheart.  Once we’re done talkin’ with yer Uncle Fiddleford.  Now, go on upstairs, all three of ya.  That’s right, you too, Tate.”  The three children left the room, looking back at the adults on their way out. Stan pulled up a chair at the table.

               “All right, Fidds, take a seat.  I think we need to have a conversation.”

               “Agreed,” Angie said, sitting down next to Stan.  Fiddleford eyed the nearest chair suspiciously, as though it might attack him.  “Fidds, come on.  Sit down.” He did as he was told, continuing to refuse to make eye contact.  

               “The kids look good,” he said in a jittery voice.  “Tate seems like he’s doin’ well, and the girls are awful cute. Have ya thought ‘bout havin’ more kids?”

               “Yes, actually,” Angie said.  “But that’s not what we need to talk about.”

               “Where were ya?” Stan asked.  “We looked everywhere.”

               “I- I can’t recall,” Fiddleford said weakly.  “I woke up this mornin’ and couldn’t even ‘member my own name.” Angie made a small, distressed sound. “It came back pretty quick,” Fiddleford said, “but I’m still missin’ some things.  I know Tate is my son, but who’s his other parent?”  Stan got the odd feeling that something inside of him had just dropped.

               “Ya- ya really don’t know?” Stan asked.  Fiddleford shook his head.  

               “Maybe it’s fer the best,” Angie said quietly, rubbing one of Fiddleford’s hands.  “This way, ya can avoid some heartbreak.”  Fiddleford smiled weakly at her.

               “When did my baby sister get so dang mature?”

               “Around the time I had to raise my nephew and two daughters, help my husband run a business, continue to do my own research, and go to speech therapy,” Angie said.  Fiddleford’s face broke.  “Things have been rough ‘round here, Fidds.  Ya can’t show up and expect us to sweep everythin’ under the rug just ‘cause we missed ya.  Ya were gone durin’ the most difficult part of all of it.”

               “I’m sorry,” Fiddleford said softly.

               “I know ya are.”  

               “Ma?  Are you gonna tuck us in?” Daisy called from upstairs.  Angie stood.

               “Comin’, junebug!”  She gave Stan a gentle kiss and left the room.  Fiddleford’s eyes widened at the sight of her profile.

               “Ya weren’t jokin’ ‘bout havin’ another kid, huh?”

               “It’s more than one.  Again.”

               “When are they due?”

               “March.  But that’s not what’s important,” Stan said.  “Angie was right.  You up and left at the worst moment.”

               “I know.  And I’m sorry.”

               “Sorry won’t change what happened.”  Stan sighed.  “But yer here now, and that’s what matters.  As you can guess, we’re gonna need some extra help ‘round the place in a few months. Are ya gonna stay this time?”

               “Yes.”

               “Promise me, brother.”

               “I promise.”

----- 

May 24, 1993

               “Mystery Shack, how can I help ya?”

               “Stanley…”  Stan’s heart stopped at his mother’s tone.

               “What is it, mom?”

               “It’s- it’s Filbrick.  He- he had a heart attack yesterday and he, uh, he passed away.  They called it a coupla minutes ago.”  Stan froze, the phone nearly slipping out of his hand. “I know there wasn’t any love lost between you and your father, but I-”  Ma Pines paused.  She continued speaking in a choked up voice.  “-I thought you should know.”  The ground seemed to fall out from under Stan.  It felt like the world had stopped moving.  

               “Dad, I wanna lollypop,” Emmett, one of his seven-year-old twin sons, said, tugging at his shirt.  “Can I take one from the gift shop?”  Stan didn’t respond.  “Dad?” When his father continued to stay silent, Emmett ran off, shouting for his older sisters.  

               “You don’t need to come to the service.  Hell, I doubt you’d want to if even I begged,” Ma Pines continued.  “But a boy needs to know when his father dies.”

               “Y-yeah,” Stan finally stammered.  “Th-thanks, mom.  And…I’m sorry you’re gonna be on yer own now.”

               “Oh, hush.  I’ll be fine. More or less.”  Ma Pines sniffled, somehow making the sound elegant.  “And I’ll wanna talk to those grandkids of mine next time I call, okay?  Given that they’re yours, those girls and boys oughtta be raising hell, and I wanna know what kind of hell it is.”

               “Okay, mom.”  

               “I love you, Stanley.”

               “I love ya, too.”  Stan hung up the phone and stared at it on the hook for a few seconds, before stumbling backwards drunkenly.  

               “Whoa, whoa, dad!” Daisy said, barely catching him.  “I’m not strong enough to hold you up!”  Stan stood and turned around.  Emmett was hiding behind Daisy, who looked concerned.  

               That’s the same look Angie gets when she’s worried.

               “Emmett came and got me,” Daisy said.  “He said something was wrong, that you weren’t talking to him.  Is everything all right?”  Stan ran a hand through his hair.

               I can’t be a good dad right now. I can’t.  He swallowed, remembering whose death he had just been told of. But I have to.

               “Yeah, junebug.  Everything’s fine.”  Daisy eyed him suspiciously.  

               “Really?”

               “Yeah.  I just need a moment is all.  You and Danny take over tours for the rest of today, okay?”

               “Okay, but-”  Stan walked away before Daisy could finish talking.  Like before, noises and things seemed to fade, until he was relying only upon muscle memory to get to his bed and sit down heavily.  

               Why am I upset?  That bastard never cared about me, he never supported me, never loved me.  I should be glad that he’s gone.  But I’m not. And it’s not just ‘cause Mom’ll be on her own now.  A voice broke through the mental fog that had surrounded him.

               “Stan?”  He felt the bed sag slightly as someone sat next to him and put a gentle arm around his shoulders.  “The kids said somethin’s wrong.  What happened?” Angie asked in a soft voice.  

               “My pops is dead.”  

               “…Oh.  I’m so sorry, darlin’.”

               “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.  I should be dancin’ on that fucker’s grave.  But I- I miss him.”

               “Feelin’s don’t always make sense,” Angie said.  She stroked his cheek.  “Are ya goin’ to be fine on yer own, or do ya want me to stay?”  

               “…You can go if you-”

               “Do ya want me to stay?”

               “If ya want,” Stan said, trying to sound casual.  Angie sighed.

               “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ vulnerable sometimes, Stanley. Nothin’ wrong with needin’ help, or a lovin’ touch.”  She rested her head on his shoulder.  “Maybe someday I’ll get through that thick skull of yours.”  Stan chuckled, despite himself.  Angie laced her fingers with his.  “You’ll get through this, Stanley Pines.  Ya got through tragedy ‘fore.  You’ll do it again.”

               “…Yeah.”  He knew she was talking about Ford, completely oblivious as to his attempts to get the machine up and running again.  Stan squeezed Angie’s hand.  She responded by nestling herself against him.

                Ford…I wonder what he would think about Pops being dead.  I guess I’ll have to ask him when he gets back.  He could feel Angie’s steady breathing, the warmth from her body percolating into his.  I’m gonna bring him back.  I have to.  

----- 

April 6, 1998

               “Dad?”  Stan looked up from his latest taxidermy creation, an unholy combination of a largemouth bass and a peregrine falcon.

               “What is it, Emmett?” he asked.

               “Em wanted to talk to you ‘n Ma about something.”  Stan frowned at his youngest child.

               “What?  It better not be another appeal ‘bout the banned activities list.  Y’all know the rules.  Once somethin’s on that list, you’re not gonna do it.”  Emmett shook his head, making his brown curls bounce. At twelve years old, he was already taller than Angie, and showed a distinct resemblance to his McGucket relatives.

               “No.  I mean, I do think some of the things on the list should be reconsidered-”

               “Emmett…”

               “-but the thing Em wants to talk about is different,” Emmett finished.

               “Where are they?”

               “The kitchen.”  

               “Got it.”  Stan exited the room he had designated as his “workshop”.  He looked back, but Emmett wasn’t following.  “Ya comin’?”  Emmett shook his head again.  

               “Em just wanted to talk to you and Ma.”

               “All right.”  

               The kids never wanna talk to us one-on-one unless they got in trouble.  What did Emory do this time?  Lost in his thoughts, Stan didn’t watch where he stepped.  As a result, he didn’t notice Danny’s latest project, a semi-sentient toaster, laying on the floor.  

               “Hot Belgian waffles!” Stan roared upon stubbing his toe on his oldest child’s experiment.  The toaster made a sad beeping noise.  “Danica Viola Pines!”

               “Yeah?” Danny called.  Her voice was a bit distant; she was probably upstairs doing homework.  She was trying to get it out of the way so that she could enjoy most of her Spring Break.

               “Ya can’t leave your stuff layin’ ‘round the house!”  

               “Sorry, Dad!”

               “Come get yer toaster thing ‘fore someone else gets hurt!”  There was a momentary pause.

               “Can I get it in a lil bit?  I’m almost done with my essay.”  Stan sighed.

               “Fine.”  He nudged the toaster off to the side so that no one else would trip over it and finished making his way to the kitchen.  Angie was sitting at the table with Emory, Emmett’s older twin.  Stan kissed his son and wife on the head before taking a seat next to Angie.  

               “Danny’s stuff hurt ya, huh?” Angie said.  Stan nodded.

               “We’ve got too many kids, Angie.”

               “No we don’t.”

               “Okay, but the girls are mad scientists.  Still can’t believe Danny got into MIT, since her experiment she presented was a death robot.”  He cracked his back before settling into a more comfortable sitting position.  “What’s goin’ on, squirt?”  As the shortest of the children, Emory had picked up that nickname early on.  Emory took a deep breath.

               “It’s- there’s somethin’ I need to tell ya.”  His voice broke.  “But I’m a bit scared.”  

               “Oh, hon, don’t be,” Angie said immediately.  “We’re always here fer ya.”  Stan nodded. Emory took another breath.

               “I- I’m not a boy.”  Stan blinked. He looked at Angie, who had a perplexed expression on her face.  “I talked to Uncle Fidds about it and- and he said that he’s a similar sorta way and-”

               “Sweet potata,” Angie said gently, “are ya sayin’ yer transgender?” Emory nodded hesitantly.

               “Y-yes.  I- I’m a girl.  And maybe you’ll be good about it, maybe you won’t but I thought should tell ya.”    

               “Why wouldn’t we be good about it?” Stan asked.  Emory looked at him.

               “I- I just know that yer proud to have two sons and-”

               “I’m proud of all of ya.  Son or daughter, mad scientist or child that doesn’t blow up the house every other week,” Stan said airily.  He squinted at Emory.  “But if ya get married, you’re keepin’ the Pines last name, right?  I know Danny’s not plannin’ on it.”  Emory cracked a half-smile.

               “Stan,” Angie sighed.  “Hon, how do ya want us to refer to ya?” she asked her child.  Emory brushed aside caramel-colored bangs.  

               “W-well.  Um, she and her and stuff like that.”

               “That’s a given,” Angie said.  “I was talkin’ ‘bout yer name.”

               “Oh!  Uh, I dunno,” Emory said with a shrug.  

               “Our other name choice was Emily,” Stan suggested.  “From ‘fore you were born.”  Emory nodded slowly.

               “I- I like that.”  Angie smiled kindly.

               “Then that’s what we’ll call ya.”  

               “Emily Pines does sound better than Emory Pines,” Stan said idly.  Angie rolled her eyes.  

               “Yer just sayin’ that ‘cause I picked Emory and you picked Emily.”  

               “I’m just better at namin’ things.”

               “Ya named that dang goat Gompers,” Angie said.  She frowned.  “Where is that critter, by the way?”

               “Uh, I think Daisy wanted to use Gompers fer something,” Emily said.

               “Isn’t usin’ pets in experiments on the banned list?” Angie asked.  She looked over at the fridge, where the list of things the children were not allowed to do was kept.  She picked up her half-moon reading glasses, which she kept on a chain around her neck, and put them on to squint at the list.  

               “Well?” Stan asked after a few seconds had passed.  Angie groaned.

               “It ain’t on the list.”  There was a loud crash from somewhere inside the house.  

               “It’s gonna be now,” Stan grumbled.  

               “Gompers, no!”  Daisy’s shout was accompanied by a series of destructive sounds.

               “I told ya, they’re mad scientists,” Stan said firmly.  He frowned at Emily.  “And since it turns out you’re a girl, you’ll be one too, won’t ya.”  Emily grinned.

               “Maybe.  I do like explosions.”  

               “That’s too bad for you, then.”  Stan stood up.  “Explosions were the first thing on the list.”  He set off to investigate the damage to the house.  

----- 

August 17, 2009

               The sun was bright, the air was warm, the sky was a gentle blue.  It was a beautiful fall day.  

Stan stood stoically next to his wife and kept his gaze trained on the casket being lowered into the ground.  

               “Today, we lay to rest Dulcimearl Raymond McGucket,” the pastor began. Stan could feel Angie’s whole body shuddering with grief.  He put a gentle arm around her shoulders.  “Mearl, as everyone called him, was a pillar of this community.  His fam’ly was one of the founding fam’lies of Gumption, and he embodied the spirit of our founders: honesty, hospitality, and, well, gumption.  To him, fam’ly was of the utmost importance, and he poured himself to helping his daughters and sons, including those who were not biologically his, but spiritually his. He always dreamed of becoming an artist. In a way, he did; his children were his greatest works of art.

               “Mearl never went to college, and insisted his children have the opportunities he didn’t.  He fought the Gumption School District tooth and nail to make sure his fam’ly was taken care of.  Mearl was a kind, gentle soul, but never afraid to fight for those he loved.  A true Christian, he opened his heart and home to all, regardless of background, religion, or any other factor.  Though many in his fam’ly were dif’rent, he accepted and loved them all, as any father should.”  Stan glanced over at Fiddleford, who was standing next to Lute woozily.

               He looks like he could topple over if there’s a mildly strong breeze.  

               “Dulcimearl is outlived by his wife, Sally, his seven children, his ten grandchildren, and his eighteen great-grandchildren, as well as numerous nieces and nephews.  He was the last of his siblings to pass away.”  The pastor bowed his head solemnly.  “He will be missed.”  That was the last straw for Angie, who began to sob in earnest.

               “Ma, it’s okay,” Emily said softly, hugging her mother.  “He’s in a better place now.”  Stan squeezed Angie in a comforting manner as she continued to cry. He looked over at Lute and Fiddleford again.  Lute had a calm expression, belying the tears streaming down his face.  Fiddleford was now leaning against Basstian, pale and devastated.  

               “Would anyone like to say a few words?” the pastor asked.  Stan removed his arm from around Angie’s shoulders and took a step forward.  The pastor nodded at him.  Stan swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

               “Mearl saw me stranded on the side of a road in New Jersey when I was seventeen,” he began.  “And even though he didn’t know anything about me, he invited me to live with him, and his fam’ly.  I don’t wanna think about what might’ve happened, if he hadn’t seen me back then.

               “I didn’t know what a good dad was like until I met him.  Some part of me wishes I didn’t know, that I hadn’t met Mearl, ‘cause then I wouldn’t be- be hurtin’.  But more of me is happy that I got the chance to find a fam’ly that cared about me and- and loved me.”  Tears began to well up in Stan’s eyes.  “And all of that is ‘cause of Mearl.”  He looked at the casket.  “I’m gonna miss you, Dad.”  He stepped back again, biting his lip in an attempt not to cry.  Emmett and Daisy wrapped their arms around him in a tight hug. Emily and Danny were still trying to comfort Angie, whose tears were dampening her dress.  The pastor looked over at Ma McGucket.

               “Would his widow like to say something?”  Ma McGucket nodded and stepped forward regally.  She was the most composed of anyone at the funeral, something Stan had noticed right away.

               She always keeps her head when things go to shit.  Ma McGucket brushed a strand of snow-white hair away from her face in the same manner as Angie and Violynn often did.  She cleared her throat and began to speak.

               “I met Mearl when I was in college.  Things happened pretty dang fast after that, and I ended up balancin’ bein’ a mom with finishin’ my degree.  Mearl was always there.  When I had a night class, he put the kids to bed on his own.  He made meals.  He changed diapers and gave baths and read bedtime stories.  He was the love of my life, my soulmate, my forever partner.

               “Mearl had the biggest heart of anyone I’d ever met.  Not ‘cause he was southern, but ‘cause that’s just who he was. He was a father to everyone, even if they weren’t born his children.”  Ma McGucket met Stan’s eyes and cracked a small, sad smile.  “I shudder to think of how the lives of everyone here would be dif’rent, if it weren’t fer Mearl’s kindness.”  She looked down at the casket.  “Near the end, he struggled a lot.  We both knew he’d be joinin’ his sisters, brothers, and parents in Heaven soon.  He told me to take care of everyone when he was gone.  And I aim to do that.”  She looked up again, her eyes bright with unshed tears.  “Y’all may have lost a father, but yer mother’s still here.  And I’m stayin’ fer a while.  I’ll wait to join Mearl until I can tell him an’ Saint Peter for certainty that everyone in this fam’ly is safe and sound.  

               “I’ll miss him every minute of every day.  But I ain’t leavin’.  I’ve got an eternity to spend with him after this life.  Five, ten, fifteen years ain’t goin’ to make a difference in Heaven, but it’ll make a difference here on Earth.  Like Mearl always said, fam’ly comes first.”  

               Stan couldn’t hold back his tears anymore.

[melmakessprites]

A deluge of bone hurting juice (2016-17 update)

Ahhh!!! *looks around* AHHH!!! *hides in a cave* Here. You can come in here and talk to me if you keep your voice down…

What’s been going on huh? We just finished up Rose City Comic Con. Numbers were significantly lower than last year, mainly attributed to the current local natural disasters (half of my state was set on fire) and the disaster that was this year’s layout…But that’s not what I want to write about today. Nah. We do conventions all the time now. I want to talk about ME. As some of my followers might have noticed, I’ve been a bit more…outspoken…some have even been so brash as to call me an angry woman. Well, let me tell you about all of the bullshit that I’ve had to deal with in the last year or so before you get your little panties in a twist.

I’ve been surrounded by death and loss since about April of 2016…

It was around that time that I had just broken off from an intimate relationship, and then about week after that, my mentor died in a sudden heart attack the week before my first gallery show. I was devastated from multiple angles. I thought I could handle it, but what I thought was letting go was really stuffing emotions down…That summer I got very sick when I stayed with a friend (see other update post) and fell into a very deep depression for a very long time….and then the elections happened. There were riots in the streets in my neighborhood. The protests are still going on and I no longer feel safe traveling alone sometimes, on my own streets.

Around November I had to face another fact - there were people in my life that were toxic and needed to be cut out if I were to progress with my own work, personal life and development. I found that some of my friends weren’t really my friends at all and that some of my male friends don’t know what the fuck consent is. I’m still recovering from what that implies.

In February we had a huge falling out with one of the larger shows of the year that we usually do because they lied to us and treated us like shit. We will never do a Wizard World show ever again. Fuck ‘em. They don’t give a shit about the people they work with, and they certainly don’t give a fuck about artists.

Then in April of this year (2017) I fell sick again. This time, while I was out of town at a show. Sakura Con in Seattle. I had to go to ER while I was out there. Do you know how embarrassing it is to be wheeled out through an audience of several thousand fans and cosplayers to an ambulance? Truly, a nightmare come to life! We had trouble with their staff too, but that’s posted elsewhere. As soon as I came back to Portland, I was still puking my brains out and had to go to the ER again. They did an ultrasound on me and I had a gallstone the size of a large marble that needed to be removed immediately. I barely even remember going to the hospital or being barely awake to sign the consent forms for the surgery. I was riddled with anxiety and exhaustion. And in all honesty, I was in so much pain that I just wanted to die at that moment. But I didn’t, and I woke up in the maternity ward because they were out of beds in the regular hospital so I had a nice big room with a window and a view. Silver linings I guess? I barely had time to recover as I was just getting through show 2 of 10 weeks of shows in a row. That month a friend of mine, of 15 years, totally fucked up and I had to let him go too. HOLY SHIT. Can’t get much worse, right? Riiiiight…

In May I had to deal with a creepy stalker but my friends had my back on that one so it’s resolved as far as I’m concerned. Bitches get blacklisted. If that idiot comes anywhere near me, I won’t be afraid to defend myself….which is why I’m lucky I wasn’t on this train…In late May, I did Furlandia. I was traveling via public transit. On Friday May 26th as the shuttle from the Sheraton pulled up to the airport, an alarm was sounding and a message played over the loud speaker. We were made aware that someone, no, two people had been stabbed on the train. Later on we found out that they weren’t just stabbed, they were slain. Some white supremacist crazy guy was harassing a Muslim woman and two men were brave enough to stand up to him. He slashed both of their throats, and as I would find out later on, it was never reported on news outside much of Oregon. Or at least the people from out of town I spoke to had no idea it had happened. I know that media blackout is a thing that happens, but this is just horrible. I’m so lucky to not have been on that train. Had I left when I had originally intended to, I would have been, but I stayed around another 10 minutes in the lobby to make a sale and so barely missed the death train…

Most of the summer was spent catching up on show stock arts and crafts as well as trying to recover while making sure bills and everything are taken care of. It’s been hard for me to eat. My stomach is still recovering and I’m dealing with mild to severe nausea. Going to doctor’s appointments and therapy to work everything out. Then comes this trip in Arizona…

I’ve just spent the last 2 weeks busting my ass, hand-drawing a 30 page comic just to say that I could do it and I’m looking forward to some relaxing time. However, I went far past the healthy work threshold, and between the stress, exhaustion, and mental anguish, my body freaked out again. This would be one of my worst battles yet.

I flew in, got set up, and the first day went smoothly for the most part. Then friday evening, I got sick. I don’t think I’d eaten enough…maybe it was the heat, maybe it was the reminders of where I’d come from up to that point…whatever it was, by body wasn’t having it. I won’t go into too much detail but there was multiple panic attacks and screaming/sobbing in the hotel room, uncontrollable vomiting for several days while my body wasted away, there were two trips to the ER, some people on suicide watch, a missed flight, half a week in a piss poor institution that I had no place in being, and severely lost faith in humanity. What I took from it is this - I’m never doing another show in AZ again. Their health care system is fucking garbage. I’m still getting bills that they never even sent to my insurance company because they’re so goddamn bad at what they do. And after all that? STILL NO ANSWERS. Not about me, not about my health condition. I had to FIGHT my way OUT in order to catch my flight back home in time for the Eclipse. And because I’m a sick mother fucker like that, I ended up cosplaying Griffith at RCCC because who doesn’t love getting locked up only to emerge on the dawn of the eclipse?

Coming down off of all of the meds they force fed me was hell. Trying to eat again while still vomiting for days after my return was hell. You know what eventually got rid of the nausea? Soaking. Soaking in a hot hot hot tub. Just soaking…and sipping lots of water….and not puking…and soaking…and cold showers, and soaking…oh my god, why is my body trying to kill me?

Then this month we did RCCC, and numbers are down, but that’s the least of my worries. You know what else is the least of my worries? Stupid people bullshit. For instance, man-children on Twitter telling me what not to say/post. A recently received a message from a youtuber. Not saying any names, but it rhymes with Yorgen Blundersound. The poor child had the audacity to tell me how I ought to speak. And that the regular gifts I send to my art friends were not welcome. Then he proceeded to accuse me of some sort of aggressive promo shit. Listen child, I’ve been running this shit for several years before I was even aware of your misinformed ass. I’m an award winning designer, bitch, I don’t need your help. As far as sending people things, I do that shit all the time. It’s part of what makes art life fun, giving. You know what giving back to your community looks like, right? From here you look like a whiny little kid that doesn’t have his shit together and I would never work with such a temperamental, unprofessional, arrogant little shit like yourself. Congrats on just kind of being an ass I guess. ‘\’o’y

If you’ve made it through this entire thing, thank you for reading and congratulations and understanding why I’ve given so very little fucks nowadays. My life has been full of bone hurting juice. I’m sure things will get better, but please be patient with me as I recover. And if you’re someone in my life who’s only around for the good times, be prepared to get dropped like a hot beat.

I missed the deadline for the Crafty Wonderland winter show, so I won’t be there. We will definitely be at OMSI next weekend for the Mini Maker Fair, and next month we have Portland Retro Gaming Expo. See you there!

ps. i’m adding more jewelry to the etsy shop this week and am looking for a gallery spaces to host my work. Contact me if interested. Thanks.

[simplirme]

THOUGHTS : on failure, depression and defeating the odds through creativity

Failure matters.

Just as vulnerability is helpful in the right doses, so is failure.

Failure is powerful, transformative, enhancing. 

Heck, I would know. I have failed a lot in my life so far. Last year, I applied to 50+ crappy low wage jobs. Every single one rejected me. I went home and cried after each interview, convinced there was something intrinsic wrong with me. How could I ever do creative work if I was considered 'under qualified' to wait tables or serve pizza? 

 I have started 5 blogs. The first failed because I was 13 and had no idea what I was doing. I tried to code my own site and that failed. The second, a few months later, was quite successful (in part because my age made me a novelty.) Then my motivation dwindled and I began posting less and less.  

Around that time, I fell into depression and failed at the simplest things of all. Getting out of bed, having conversations, writing, looking after myself, eating and sleeping all became challenges I could not overcome. I remember feeling genuine pride at having got out of bed and made it downstairs to get a glass of water by 6pm one day.

I failed at these basic life skills with enough consistency to land me in hospital for a year. Wow, I thought as I signed the admission papers, this has got to be the ultimate failure. Well done me. In hospitals, that capacity to not do basic things is taken away. Don't want to get out of bed? Someone will pick you up and drag you out. Don't want to shower? Expect to be picked up and placed under the water. Don't want to eat? Good luck fighting off six trained adults who will force you. And so on and so on.

Treatment for depression in the UK is built on physical force and threats until some sort of survival instinct kicks in. It doesn't always, though. I met many girls - smart, beautiful, wonderful girls- who hadn't spoken or walked or been outside or done anything not forced for years. Some got better. Some are still stuck like that, passed between different hospitals every few years. For a while I kept failing and failing and failing. After a few months, I began to make small wins. A combination of therapy, much needed medication, proper nutrition, sleep and intense friendships with other girls chipped away at the black depression. I remastered the art of doing the basic stuff needed to stay alive.

Then I started writing again. I wrote more than ever before. Every 10 days, I filled a Moleskine notebook. My tiny hospital room filled up with stacks of them, each full of messy handwriting. On bad days, I drew and made collages, turning images into eventual words. It began with drivel, which turned into stories, rants, letters never to be sent, plans. I wrote about the home, family, friends and college which I ached to return to. From the writing came hope, and from the hope came fewer failures. 

A year ago, I turned 18 and the hospital could no longer use force on me. So I left to rejoin the real world, taking with me all I had learned about myself from a year of introspection. I knew I had lost a huge chunk of my teenage years, but I accepted that and was determined not to fall so far again. I went back to college, having worked hard enough to avoid going back a year. I got As in my exams. I spoke to people. I appreciated everything. I got into university and moved out. I kept writing. Then I started this site in March, wanting it to be something I would not allow myself to fail at. 

During that time I had failed a lot, though I was lucky to have somehow remained at the middle of the bell curve. Enough failure to make me push myself harder than ever before. Not enough failure to make me give up and resign myself to a life in hospitals like an invisible strata of society do. I have kept on living.

Picture a graph with that same bell curve. A consistent lack of failure (often due to fame) leads to ivory tower syndrome. We see this in the cases of many an actor, singer, scientist or designer who is lauded for too long. Over time, their self-awareness wanes and their work/lives descend into chaos. That's not the only factor, but it plays a role. The hard work is over, money assured and their creativity becomes a commodity. When the inevitable failure comes, the resources to deal with it have withered away. Insulated cocoons can only last so long. We glamourise the artist gone insane to ignore our collective role in their decline. When we cushion people from failure, it is all too likely to backfire in the long run. 

On the other end of the bell curve is consistent, crushing failure. The kind which forces so many people to give up on their creativity. Maybe the ability (honed through deliberate practice) is not there. Maybe the world isn't ready. The world is often not ready. Or you are not ready for the world. 

It's a scale which varies from person to person. Some quit after one rejection by a publisher, jeer from an audience or critical comment on a post. Some continue to the point of bankruptcy, isolation and ill health. 

Between lies that crucial balance. Enough failure to keep you driven and realistic. Enough success to ensure you maintain the discipline to keep going. 

I have written before about my thoughts on reacting to criticism of your work. In my opinion, not giving a fuck is the wrong way to go. I believe you should care deeply and embrace negative reactions. If you can feel the pain of failure deeply and still continue then that's a good sign. 

Alexis Ohanian wrote 'you are a rounding error' on the wall of his office after an executive said they only met with him about his site due to a traffic rounding error. If you have been living under a rock, that little site (Reddit) is now one of the largest on the internet. 

Stephen King hung each rejection letter he received from a publisher on a nail in his study. When the nail got too full, he got a larger one and kept writing. Again, if you have been living under a rock, he has since sold over 350 million books. 

Seth Godin said that he regards his mistakes and failures as prized possessions.

I'm sure you have heard countless stories like that, so I won't list more. But when we hear stories like that, we tend to focus on what came afterwards. The success, fame, extraordinary talent. Those people must have been to begin with. Their failures were just the mistakes of other people who did not recognise that, right?  

Wrong. Talent is not innate- plenty of research has shown that. Certain physical characteristics can help or hinder in different areas. Beyond that, it comes down to persistence and deliberate practice. That is what we develop through failure.

To cap off this mammoth post, here are some of my mental models for handling failure. 

1 - Imagine it as a training montage. You know those scenes in countless films where we see the hero go from hapless loser to cool superhero? My favorite is from Mulan. After much struggle and practice, she climbs a tall pole and impresses everyone. I like to picture myself in one of those whenever I suck at something. I imagine a time lapse of me writing at my desk, culminating in me publishing my first book. With a lot of scrunching up paper and swearing. It is a powerful visualisation. I also use this when revising for exams or exercising. Mulan falling off the pole was the necessary initial step towards her climbing it. If she can do that, I can finish this essay and reach the stretch goals I am working towards. The basic stuff (like, you know, getting out of bed) doesn't even make it into Mulan's training montage, so it shouldn't be part of mine. 

2 - Expose myself to it until it looses it's meaning. I was VERY unpopular at school. Unpopular enough to have chairs thrown at me, my work torn up and my books spat on. My means of handling it was to record insults and snide comments. I would then reread them again and again. Before long, those words lost their capacity to hurt me. I reclaimed control over my my responses.  In the words of Scroobius Pip, in the end they are just words, you give them power when you cower. Failure is just a word. It is something subjective. Are the failures I have mentioned here really that? Who knows. It's up to me (and you) to decide. 

3 - Eradicate all traces of it and move on. This was the advice my older brother gave me once and it has stuck with ever since. Sometimes I don't want to accept or rework. Sometimes I just need to forget and move on. In the words of Rev. William L. Swig, 'Fail early and get it all over with. You learn to breathe again when you embrace failure as a part of life, not as the determining moment of life.' Failure doesn't always mean anywhere near as much as we imagine. 

4 - Read about the failures of people I admire. As long as you avoid the aforementioned risks of this, it is very helpful. Try reading Just Kids by Patti Smith - the story of the life she and Robert Mapplethorpe lead before they became cultural icons. Or read On Writing by Stephen King, which details his complex path to getting published after many nails full of rejection slips. If that still doesn't work, then try Seneca's letter to his mother about exile. Or, try listening to any talk by Tony Robbins (this one is good in particular.) That holy group  of inspiring people always shake me out of worrying about failure. Also, listening to Conor Oberst for pretty much every waking hour keeps me sane. 

5 - Focus on maintaining a growth mindset. Here is a wonderful extract from the first thing I ever wrote- archived by my mother:  'my dog blak prins is a majic dog who eats majic food which he liks so much that he gobuls it up and smils.' My five year old self did not win any awards for that gem. That is doubtless a good thing as I am sure some people would have found a dog called Black Prince problematic. I digress. My writing has come a long way since then. The hundreds of blog posts which no one ever read, the rejected applications for writing roles, the ignored submissions, the burnt notebooks, the deleted Word documents, the scrapped drafts, the ideas which never even made it onto a page - they all contributed to where I am now. Along the way I have learned how to hone my work and write stuff which people like to read. Some people. Some of the time. I still experience the same failures on a daily basis, except the wins are there too. That is what a growth mindset is all about. 

(S)he who dares, might fail. (S)he who fails, also wins sooner or later. 

I have been writing this for the last 7 hours and it is time to stop now. This might be the most personal post I have written and one of the longest. If you have read it all, well done. Let me know what you think in the comments or drop me an email. Feel free to share this post with anyone who might find it helpful. 

// Rosie

P.S. As you may have heard, I launched a Patreon page for this site yesterday. If you enjoy my work, please take a quick look at it. 

.. via simplir.me