#but you can tangibly feel how much more comfortable they are already compared to the first few episodes

[shamblz]

Thoughts about tv I've had rotating in my mind and needed to get out because I actually really enjoyed GSCE media and although my knowledge of media is not great I do like to think about it from time to time

So task master series 16 was really good and I was kinda in the mood for more so I'm watching the NZ version since that's also available on channel 4 and I think it's very interesting from a "viewer" perspective cuz the UK is quite good at making and exporting game shows there a long history of it and TM has obviously been quite successful and it works well as a game show because even though its still formulaic in its creation the tasks are varied and allow for much more creative freedom for comedy so it doesn't get boring but also it's undeniable that a big part of what makes TM good is that Alex Horne and Greg Davies are absolute weirdos who are fully committed to the bit to the point where it almost seems to have become an integral part of the shows formula such that when you watch the kiwi version you can kinda see the hosts almost try and lean into it as if they've made a conscious choice to emulate Horne and Davies but the chemistry between them just isn't there and they've gotten more natural as time has gone on (I've just started s2) but you could really feel the teleprompter being read by them, and tbh you can for UK as well but they almost manage to lean into it at times and I'm sure I remeber a joke or 2 about it from the UK guys, but it's so interesting to me to see the NZ guys kinda try and play Davies and Horne who themselves are at least somewhat playing characters hyperbolic versions of themselves and their much more natural feeling chemistry, what I'm trying to get at is the idea of the NZ hosts playing roles equivalent to the UK hosts because that dynamic is package and parcel with the concept of TM itself and the way you see them clearly acting to try and mimic the roles and it has gotten more natural over time but it feels almost like they're holding themselves back by not just letting a more natural banter come though

Tldr: I'm intrigued by the implication that the TM copyrighted formula seems to include the dynamic between hosts

Additional point of within a few episodes of uk TM I saw that actually it's Alex Hornes creation and realised that Greg Davies for all his pomp and dominant behaviour is essentially just a very loud figurehead for the series when it's really Hornes creation and that really does add an extra layer to their dynamic that's just very juicy tbh and I don't think there's really an NZ equivalent for that I think they're just 2 guys?? Idk who makes the tasks for them

[oddverse]

As I continue typing up my new project please enjoy this year old warm up/rough draft that I still really like. It is incredibly unfinished without both an intro and end but I plan to recycle a lot of it,

Shaky hands grab the bottle and pours a half glass, just enough to gulp down, and one for Prosciutto. Wide eyed angry tears are considered before Pesci takes both glasses and steps toward him. The wine lowered and offered makes the relief tangible. Forgiveness. Acceptance. Prosciutto is eager for both, and takes it. Pescis hand now free to grab and lift him to his level, liquid sloshing from the movement. Chest to chest, he feels Pesci scanning his face, his own eyes downturned to stare at the strong body connected to Prosciuttos bare skin. His own hand dragging away to place on the soft muscle in front of him. He feels the large palm slide to the small of his back in response, forearm wrapping around his waist to pull them even closer.

“Pesci.” A whisper at this point.

He wonders if he can feel the softness there, if he likes it, if he wants the woman out of him.

“Let’s sit on the couch.”

It’s all Pesci can think to say.

Taking hands again Pesci leads this time, setting them both down, Prosciutto finally takes a sip from the glass and watches as Pesci takes note, turns, and finishes his own in a few big gulps. He aught to be scolded for being a such glut but Prosciutto lets it be for now.

Twisting to set the empty glass on the side Prosciutto takes in the strong backside of his subordinate, the muscle he’s put on so much more apparent compared to their first introductions. Acknowledging he really has worked hard. Another sip and Pesci is turning back to face him, blush already set in, ears and chest burning up in anticipation, or just drunkenness. Pesci’s looking at him now, dark pupils against green eyes.

“Do you… want me to take it..?”

How much more forward could he be?! Prosciutto isn’t sure if he should be rewarded for the boldness or not. Maybe he can get away with it for tonight, the blood already warming his face. And lower...

“I won’t stop you from doing anything.” An invitation.

And with that Pesci takes the unfinished glass from his hand and places it down as well.

‘Oh.’

His full hand now finding it’s place on the slender thigh in front of him, he doesn’t squeeze but his grasp quivers, his other arm getting comfortable on Pros shoulders.

“Now.. What now?”

Relaxing in his touch, that’s Pesci cue to lean in closer, Prosciutto following his lead, gingerly, until gentle breaths are felt on lip and chin.

“Don’t ask me ‘what now’ you giant baby, I want to you to show me.” His harsh words an invitation. Complete permission if he accepts.

“And what if you don’t like it?”

Prosciutto could laugh in his face. How wrong he is…

“Nothing scares me, Pesciolo…” Pleading tone betraying his intent.

Pesci squeezes his eyes shut at that and pushes in towards him, foreheads butting, letting out a long sigh. Prosciutto, eyes half lidded, doesn’t look away but finally reaches forward, palms on his partners face, petting and scratching his scalp. Pesci knows what this is, huffing at the press of nails and nuzzling into the touch, noses rubbing from the movement.

Pet pet

“Pesci- Pesci-“

he can’t keep from embarrassing himself any longer.

Scrape

“Please Pesci-.” whispers in between grazes.

Half moaning from the act and spurred on, Pesci lifts both hands up to hold Prosciuttos face and pulls forward. Two loud sighs escape [through each others nose] as lips connect, Pescis hands trembling from the touch, Prosciutto drinking in the scent of wine left over, gripping green hair and fingernails scraping down his strong neck and upper back. Pesci’s hands slipping from Prosciutto’s face to his sides underneath the blazer but not yet past the yellow button up, thumb and fingers groping at the soft of his waist. That gets a muffled squeal out of Prosciutto and Pesci uses that to open the kiss, pushing them both further against the back cushion. All 6 feet and 200 pounds pressing against his smaller frame, body to body now, thin legs lifted and laid across his strong lap. Drunken wet mouths create wet chins and he’s got to be pushed away so prosciutto can catch his breath, huffing at the loss. Seeing the state of his partner, red all over and looking back at him, his grip frustrated and tightening. Prosciutto laughs. He wants him insatiable tonight.

“Would you take that ridiculous coat off?” Tugging at the furred collar. That snaps Pesci back for a moment, hissing “You picked it.” Leaning forward and shuffling himself out of it, throwing the gaudy thing into the empty loveseat, Prosciutto rubbing up and down on his now bare upper arms. Pesci’s more than happy to resume the onslaught before a hand on his chest stops him in place.

“And are you going to ravage me on this couch?” With a wry smile and half shut eyes.

Pesci doesn’t quite understand.

Prosciuttos amused expression deadpans at the confusion. Palm sliding from collarbone to his face to squeeze so gently. Seemingly bluntness is the only way to go.

“We’re not teenagers anymore, I’m in no mood for a living room quickie tonight.”

There it is, out in the open.

And Pesci hesitates at that, because of course he should, thats the point of no return isn’t it.

His “Boss”, even before their capo, Prosciutto was the one who found him out there and since then it’s always just been the the two of them. Pesci hasn’t walked though those doors by himself once since he’s joined up, nor grabbed his own paycheck, for the last few years he has not known a life outside of this acquaintanceship. It’s not like he had Formaggio or any of the other guys number. They were partners turned genuine companions now, and Pesci has been an only child his whole life but he felt a closeness with the other. Close like brothers now…

But do brothers want to hold each other like this? Do brothers think about the things he does, do best friends even do it?

[raenizza]

"I'm Right Here."

Summary: Jey Uso quickly comforts Reader after experiencing a panic attack.

Word Count: 1,208

Trigger Warnings: This work contains content that includes symptoms of panic attacks/disorders.

Author’s Note: Hi Loves, so I’ve decided to switch it up a bit and write a Jey comfort oneshot. I feel like it is well-needed during this time around. Please Enjoy and Leave feedback (I love reading y’all’s comments btw <3)

~~

Bills. Bills. Bills. Work. Work. Work. 

That’s all you’ve been thinking about for the past month. The number of things that need to get done, the time it takes for said things, and most importantly how it all will affect you and your future. 

It’s already bad enough that the house needs renovating once again and that the entire process alone is physically draining you. From hiring contractors to getting in contact with the city for a permit, shit is getting more and more difficult by the day. Let’s not forget your academic plan on getting your master's degree, adding more pressure to the plate.

All this circles your mind as you sit in your bedroom deep in thought. The worst part about it is that you’re not even sure if it's going to be worth it in the end. 

 Everything sounds so good in theory but to put the actual work in seems so overwhelming. You start to think about your marriage and how that will play a part in your future. You want to do what makes you happy but what kind of sacrifices will that make? And how will affect the way your husband may feel? Or most importantly, how you will feel?

All this worrying started to cave in on you as you looked outside your window, watching Jey mow the lawn and gather materials in the garden. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of nausea and chills as you overlook the things going on in your life. The very thought of you losing the love of your life triggered something in you. Losing Jey was the very last thing on your mind because you know how much he loves you. 

You start thinking of yourself as useless as they come comparing the things you do for him and vice versa. Your breathing heavied and your hands started to tremble at the very thought. You quickly shift your body around, back against the wall facing the side of the bed. You then heard the back door opening from downstairs, you pulled down onto the floor in shame.

Jey had decided to take a 15-minute break after doing some garden work and wanted to check in and see how you were doing.

“BABE!!” Jey screams from downstairs. He looked around in the kitchen for you and then the living room. It was pure silence. He walked up to the bottom of the staircase.

“BABY!! YOU UPSTAIRS??!!” Once again. Met with silence. Jey figured something wasn’t right. 

He walked into the bedroom and heard something in the far left corner. As he walked in closer, he sees you on the floor hyperventilating by the window.

Jey comes sprinting to you, coddling you as quickly as possible. “BABY??” he screamed out to you as he knelt down to your level.

“Baby take a deep breath.” You couldn’t believe what was happening to your body. Everything just happened so fast. One moment you’re standing up and now you’re on the floor. You couldn’t even hear anything, just Jey’s voice muffled in the background as you looked around the space near you.

“Baby!! Y/N/!”

“I- … I-..I-” you gasped out. Unable to get a single word in.

“Baby, look just Breathe.”

“Breathe in!!” Jey says to you. You can finally hear him a bit more clearly. So you quickly breathed in for a second.

“Now Breathe Out!!” Following suit you did just as. Jey looks into your eyes as he repeats it to you a couple more times. 

“One more time.” 

“That’s it, you got it, baby girl,” Jey reassures you every which way he can. 

“Just mimic me alright?” as he placed your hand on his chest. 

Then Jey starts to ground you a bit, this is not his first rodeo, so he begins to get tangible . You, on the other hand, still looking around the room instead of him, scared and not knowing what to even do at this point. Your hands are trembling so bad he decided to take them into his and massaged them slowly.

“Baby look here.” Jey points to one of his tattoos on his left arm.

“You see this tattoo right here?  You see how this one curves up?” Your eyes dart straight to his brown skin.

Jey knows you love his tattoos, especially the ones on his arms and chest. You lay on his chest every single night before bed caressing, tracing, and admiring them with each and every single detail. This is what calms you down. This is what brings you back.

“ Look at this one right up here.” He then points to the one above it. 

“This one…this one means peace baby. You bring peace to me.” Hands still trembling, your fingers hovered over his tattoo, making contact. 

“Now this one” he points to another. Your index finger just slightly grazing on it. The sounds of your pounding heart lower.

“This one right here, I got for you. This one means that you are everything to me and so much more.” He says to you in a soft and gentle manner. 

“It symbolizes my love for you.” From fingertips, to now full hand placed on the tattoo. It was the only one on his arm that was colored in,  your favorite color to be exact.

Jey watched you work your way up his arm, as your breathing slowed and posture relaxed. Even your face softened. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, letting a tear drop fall as you slid your hand up and down his tatted arm.

“I’m so sorry.” you whispered to him.

“It’s okay baby. Don’t apologize.” He says to you as he held your arms.

“I’m all here.” Jey reassures once more. Causing the chills that took over your body once upon a time to disappear, feeling warmth and comfort to his words. After a moment of breathing and quietness, you opened your eyes darting right back on his tattoos.

“It’s okay baby, you can look up at me.” Jey places his index on underneath your chin guiding your face to align with his.

“What’s troubling you?”

“Every…thing” you said lowly. 

“Baby I understand that shit may seem a bit overwhelming, especially with the renovations and everything in between-”

“It’s not just that. I just…I just don’t feel like I am enough.” you pleaded to him.

“Like…like I’m not enough for you-” 

“No. no baby, you are always enough for me. Don’t ever say no shit like that, okay.” 

“I love you for who you are and the kind of love that you give is out of this world and I am forever grateful. Do you understand?” Jey, not breaking eye contact, kisses you deeply and passionately. 

“Mmmkay? I Love you baby, and I ain’t going anywhere. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.” 

“I will always be yours, no matter what.” Jey hugs you tight and then proceeds to kiss your forehead. He picked you up off the ground and headed to the bed. Laying on his back with your head placed right on his chest. With his exposed chest and through his sweaty white tank top, you traced more of his tattoos on his right breast.

“You promise?’

“I promise.”

[tarot-by-e11e]

Hiii 🤗💗 I'm finally here with your exchange reading for the Inner Demons game. First of all I hope you accept my apologies. I'm sorry it took a loooong time😭 I hope you are not mad at me and I also hope you didn't come to the conclusion that I scammed you hehe 😅🥲 I would never do that😭 Regardless of how much time passes, I keep my promises🤪🤭 Anyway let's get into your reading. (It was a pretty difficult reading for me to do since it's a very complex and deep topic imo.)

So were you constantly compared to your siblings when growing up? Or had an overbearing mother who always expected you to perform better and better and was never content with how successful you already were. Or maybe this was you being unhappy and dissatisfied with how things were going on in your life. It's like you had conflicting choices to make or you wanted life to flow this way, but it always went the other way. When you wanted to go right, you could only go left. You felt like you were unsupported by the female figures in your life or by your own self. You could have been bored or disappointed with close relationships you had when you were young, as if something was missing, was it warmth, stability or just a constant craving for something more than you already had? Constantly thinking the grass is greener elsewhere, you let yourself drown in your own mentally crafted restriction and lack mindset. Maybe you felt like growth and abundance wasn't for you or you couldn't have it regardless of how much you tried. On the more brighter side, you were daydreaming and probably had a vivid and creative imagination to escape your reality. You could always dive deep into your imagination and come up with creative solutions to make up for the void you sometimes feel. You could've felt lost and lonely and maybe also didn't put enough effort to make your dreams a reality or the situation never allowed it. Maybe you grew up in a restrictive family or culture and you felt like you didn't have the stability and sense of home you desired. Maybe you had to adhere to traditions or rules that made you feel like you wanted to escape and find a sense of belonging elsewhere. I'm thinking that maybe you didn't have enough resources and abundance and financial difficulties led you to think and rethink about wanting more stability and comfort in life. There could've been a lack of familial support or family had to face financial losses which made you feel like you had to rely on yourself for sustenance. Due to all these maybe you turned into superficiality at a young age giving importance to luxury or wanting an affluent lifestyle or believing that all these tangible and material things will bring you the comfort and reassurance you need. I'm thinking your inner demons stem from family influence and your unhealthy coping mechanism was practically to be so lost in thought or self isolation tendencies? Or to just fantasise and daydream about an alternate lifestyle. I'm thinking of virgo/pisces placements and virgo moon. I'm thinking a lot about escapism so I would name your inner demon as escapist daydreamer.

And all I want to say is if you have any feeling of unworthiness, it's all just a self-limiting belief, don't let it fool you into thinking you don't deserve peace and tranquility in your life. Don't let your thoughts and mental energy get stuck in your head. Introduce kindness to your internal monologue if you haven't already. Mental conflict is mostly an illusion and an imaginary barrier that's keeping you away from living your best life. Also makes me think of the hanged man, if you go with the flow and maybe adapt a new perspective on life, all the conflict and problems you are facing will keep falling out away from you and finally free you. You are not as restricted as you used to be, and I see you resolving a lot of conflict and inner turmoil, kudos to you for that! And I also get the feeling that you are good at conflict resolution now more than before. You can see things clearly now, you can see for yourself, especially if earlier in your life decisions or choices were made on behalf of you, now you are in a position to make good ones for yourself on your own accord. You can live a life free of weight, complexities and conflict. You are very much on your way to personal freedom and empowerment. One more important thing is to let go of conflict be it painful memories, anger or hatred you have for someone and remember that not every battle is worth it. Sometimes it's best to let go of revenge and bitterness.

And finally I would say your inner demons have opened the way for deep healing and spirituality. You are very much in tune with natural healing and I feel like the more you let go of self limiting beliefs, self sabotaging behaviours and conflict the more peaceful you will be. You will shine and very much be an accomplished person on your own. As much as they held you back and stirred chaos in your life, they also brought you the true meaning of hope. I also think the coping mechanisms and struggles might have shaped your individuality in a beautiful way. All that has transpired has crafted the uniqueness in your soul.

I hope this reading resonated with you🤗🩷

It was a little difficult for me to grasp the theme of the reading and I wonder if I asked all the right questions when pulling the cards😪 But anyway I did my best and I hope you find this reading to be helpful in your healing journey and hope it brings you clarity and peace 🥰

Have a wonderful day!

Hi dear,

Thank you for even taking the time to doing an exchange reading for my previous ask game! I did tell you it's not a requirement but it is greatly appreciated!! Ahehehehehe!!

No worries, I'm really grateful you even sent on in the first place!

Being ruthlessly compared by an overbearing and controlling mother? Check~

Unhappy and unsupported? Double check ~

Something missing? Yup, emotional attachment towards my family, warm affection where nonexistent where I grew up. I had to teach myself how to learn to say no, how to establish healthy boundaries and learning to figure out exactly what do I want for me, not what is expected of me. So yeahhhhhhhh, check again on that one.

True, my parents made sure to barely give me crumbs to survive but forgot to treat me like an actual human being with free will. They thought that since they gave birth to me, they are within their rights to deprive me free will and human decency and compassion. So yup, I had no choice but to figure all that out myself. The restrictions are really restricting me will to live since before I turned 18. (Like who have you met that thinks unaliving meself as the best birthday gift for myself at 18?)

I had more failed attempts knocking on Death's door that the universe had cursed me with overall health resilience and once a year fever. Such a weird thing to open up about the day before my birthday but meh... Rio Vidal doesn't love me like she loves Agatha. She just won't let me unalive.

Yup, I'm a creative, so much so that I can't niche to save my life. I personally see my mastery curve towards my interests as blah, but people around me always complain how unfair I was for only needing to hyper-fixate to mastery any technical skills within a week or month. It really depends on my level of obsession with how little time I only needed to master any artistic skills that requires precision and dexterity. (I got astrology placements that prove this.)

So yup, a family that's controlling, restrictive and unsupportive that only barely supports the logicals and practicals, and as the only creative and spiritual black sheep, 9 out of 10, I'm lowkey annoyed I survived another failed attempt. The worst part is, people who barely know me struggle to believe I've gone through hell and back because I don't actively parade my pain. And out of all the compliments I got growing up that I still absolutely despise is being "so strong" as if I waa ever given any choice to be anything other than that.

Granted money isn't everything, but it does make life feel a little less stressful and opens up healthier possibilities the 80% of the population of us could usually only dream of, like fully paid health insurance, having multiple retirement funds, having 5 years worth of emergency funds. If desiring to be superficial meant I wouldn't be paralysed by the constant "Where will get the money to pay rent or have food on the table for the week", then so be it. I can't kid myself when I experienced first hand how traumatised and helpless my family was when one of us needs emergency hospital care. Or feeling guilty for buying one good quality item on its original price instead of purchasing a wholesale set of significantly cheaper alternative. People who grew up not being deprived or guilt tripped for wanting things for themselves will never understand how damaging growing up in constant crumbs.

Anywhere is better than the four walls I've been caged in.

My unhealthy coping mechanisms are Hypervigilance and Hyper Independence to the point where I only spoke up about something traumatised 3 years after I've barely survived from it. I had unfortunately deprived my friends the honor of being with me in my darkest hours. (I'm currently working on this, it's still a bit rough but I'll get there.)

My imagination was so wild that it jump started my spiritual journey at such a young age where I couldn't discern which is fantasy and which is spirituality. I thought everyone can just call in the wind if you just wish it. I thought everyone can accurately predict a relative's death. I thought everyone can easily sense the energy of a collective before entering a room. I didn't know that other people didn't get random signs from the universe that they can intuitively interpret and apply in real life. I was shocked to hear that all these were either a learned skill or impossible. So many things that were effortless and natural for me, were near impossible for most(hence we some people get scared whenever I had an intuitive message because they can't deny that I'm right).

Really?? This makes so much sense!! It does resonate with so well! Okay I'll work harder to get out of my own head! I do!! I'm not az restricted as before (Welp, it's because I used the entire Covid season to call out my family's toxicity front and center and spilled all their manipulative tea and showed all the receipts of their gaslighting and screwed up narcissistic tendencies. I should get paid with the years of their unpaid therapy sessions from me.)

Conflict resolution, I'm almost there~ just as long as they won't give me any reason to fight and behave in their room, we'll all remain as civil as usual. In my culture, it's deemed shameful and ungrateful for a child to call out and air out the family's toxic BS, especially if it's true for generations and everyone else was just too scared to even cuss the elders abusive asses out. Using the whole effed "But he's your dad/she's your mom" whenever I called them out on their cruelty, playing victim and use their "seniors amnesia" and gaslighting you into thinking "that didn't happen/I never said that" and just keep playing the "My old heart is gonna cave in due to stress"...

I may have won in the talents lottery draw but I've dealt with such a shitty hand when choosing the family to be born into. I don't recall signing up to be one of the Universe's Strongest Soldier in this lifetime. Please let me unsubscribe. I'd like an official permanent discharge in this "Weekly Hell and Back Phoenix Rising" Character Development programme.

Yehey for freedom!! It's about dang time!!

Letting go out painful memories (tempted cut off certain family members with this suggestion).

Well I've learned that intense emotions make great art.

Hey don't beat yourself up for this! You did an incredible job doing this exchange!!! I was properly called out in such a loving way!! So thank you again for this!! I do hope you take care of yourself always!!

[merakiui]

okay but what about mangaka jade who is known for writing some of the most batshit insane stories? they’re always so bloody and graphic, scenes depicting victims having their organs removed are always so… realistic in their portrayal some internet users have begun suspecting him of the bodies found around the city! but it’s just fiction, of course - it’s not like he derives any pleasure from seeing the human body disfigured beyond belief, until it’s but a lump of flesh and organs in disarray. just don’t question too much when you receive a request to model for mangaka! jade, even if the location he sends you is hours away from the city >_<

OOOOOO imagine being an internet sleuth trying to decipher the strange and mysterious mangaka known only by the pen name: naoh. They're a very talented artist and storyteller, but they're just so shrouded in anonymity! naoh never attends any conventions or events, but they do self-publish and sell their works through doujinshi and manga websites. naoh is rather particular when it comes to their work. They never resell works that have already been published. In essence, once a work is sold out it's never going to be sold again, and they only ever create a maximum of two works each year with limited numbers of copies. naoh themself isn't very active on their social media, only ever posting the rare WIP or an update on when a new work will be up for sale. Despite their quiet social media presence, they have gained quite the following. naoh never follows anyone on their account, and it seems like they rarely engage with fellow mangaka and creators with similar interests. They work alone.

You're a fan of naoh's work. The way they draw the human body is fascinating. It's something that could be seen in an anatomy textbook; it's always so realistic and yet still so eerily beautiful and stylized! You'll never forget how they draw emaciated bodies. It's an image imprinted in your brain: horrifyingly realistic and skeletal, a figure so gaunt it's quite literally skin and bones drowning in clothing that can no longer fit comfortably. You've always wondered how they manage to draw such visceral scenes (like the ones depicting clinical dissections or decaying corpses). And then there's the way they depict fear. It's almost always raw, stretching the characters' features into something horrific. It looks so real; it feels tangible. Fans often speculate if naoh has a job in law enforcement or any other profession that deals with the more grotesque and graphic sides of humans, which could be references for some of their horror stories and could explain why they're so good at depicting details.

But then there are the fans who go beyond simple, innocent curiosity and begin to ask disturbing questions: What if naoh isn't with law enforcement? What if, rather, they're the exact opposite: a criminal? It feels like a silly theory, but when you flip through the physical copies of their work and compare the plots to the yet-to-be-solved cases throughout the past few months you begin to spot a few minor similarities. They're never glaring; after all, naoh is a master of crafting both cutthroat terrors and subtle horrors. The type that builds suspense over time. The type that crawls into your head through your ear to whisper nonsense at night. The type that slowly forms a picture over time, but once you realize this it will have been too late.

In their most recent work, a young man is out for a hike when he takes a stumble and falls down a dangerous slope, landing on a rocky outcrop that breaks his leg and leaves him trapped many feet above the ground. He tries to call for help, but no one seems to hear his voice. He spends days on the outcrop, slowly losing hope and sanity. By the end of the story, he's so certain he's going to die that he drags himself over to the edge and free-falls to the ground below. He lands in a spattering mess of shattered bone and stringy, bloody muscle. A lump of a human. The cruel twist is that his hiking partner had actually left to get help as soon as he had fallen and that the man had only been stuck up there for ten hours. Not even a full day, yet panic seized him and left him in hysterics. Had he remained calm and waited, he would have been saved.

It's a terrifying concept made even more scary when you realize there was a story just like this that hit the news. Only it wasn't a man who had slipped. A woman had been out for a run through mountainous woods; she was training for an upcoming cross-country journey through uneven terrain when she sustained blunt force trauma to the head. Many suspect her running buddy to be at fault, as she was never found, and it's theorized she's still on the run. The woman had attempted to flee, but with her head injuries her senses were vastly impaired and she took too many wrong turns. Police suspect she unintentionally ran herself to the edge of a cliff. From there, the story is foggy and difficult to piece together, but it ends terribly: she was found at the very bottom days later, decomposing in thorny bushes, her body mangled and twisted and smashed beyond recognition. The pathologist noted her body was in such disrepair that it's unclear what truly killed her, whether the fall or injuries she had sustained prior to the fall.

And it isn't just this story that somewhat mirrors naoh's works (often it's a setting or a circumstance or a facet of the true crime itself incorporated. Very rarely is it about the victim). You read up on very long threads regarding naoh and their identity, and slowly you find yourself doing research of your own. You have no idea where to start, so for now you keep track of each story you hear on the news and try to match pieces of it to naoh's works in hopes of learning anything new. Unsolved cases, though plentiful and murky, are where you turn to, as well as the discussion boards online. So many people are convinced naoh is a killer. After reading a few rational theories, you're beginning to think so, too. (Though something tells you it could be coincidence, or it could be naoh taking inspiration from reality. They might not even be a murderer like some think; it might just be hateful people trying to sully their name.)

One day, while scouring naoh's social media for any clues, you get the idea to type the pen name into the search bar as if it might yield something interesting. And the first thing that pops up is: Sodium hydroxide (NaOH), known commonly as lye or caustic soda, is... You stop reading and scramble to grab naoh's first-ever work: a work in which that same chemical plays a major role in murder. NaOH is a substance that, when heated to a certain degree, can dissolve a human body into a syrupy liquid in just three hours.

And that's the pen name of a mangaka who writes and illustrates horror stories about the sordid sides of humankind. A mangaka who might just be a murderer racking up a horrifying kill count, and no one knows anything about them or where they might be in the world. Most of all, no one knows where they'll strike next and who will fall victim to a dangerous killer.

naoh is a mangaka catalouging their murders, and you're determined to prove it.

[carefulfears]

Can you compare the Irresistible hug and the Milagro hug please !!!!!!!!! I love Milagro so much

okay our best and brightest @scullysflannel already talked about this once but let's chat on it (+ unruhe because i watched it last night) just for you babes xxx

/ irresistible

irresistible is my favorite of the three, and my favorite scully trauma™ episode, as it's the most dedicated to the emotional progression.

this episode encapsulates an understanding that the x-files never shied from, that the scariest monsters are human men, it's pointless to pretend otherwise.

fresh off her abduction, a violation and loss of autonomy that she still doesn't understand, scully's reaction to the crimes of donnie pfaster is intimate: his victims are the dead, a group she's always been more connected with than most.

her grief and discomfort at the desecration of women that she's bearing witness to is so overwhelming, and it's something that she's alone in, as the men around her continue with business as usual.

as the investigation continues, scully decides to go back to washington, telling mulder that she'll "better drive this investigation" if she focuses on the evidence.

SCULLY: I'm not having trouble, Mulder.

MULDER: I'd understand, Scully. This isn't exactly easy to stomach.

SCULLY: I'm fine with it. Really. I just think we're a long way from catching this guy. If we could get a print, we'd have something to go on. Right now we're at a standstill.

MULDER: I think it's a good idea. I just don't want you to think you have to hide anything from me, Scully. I've seen agents with twenty years in the field fall apart on cases like this.

Scully: I'm fine, Mulder. I can handle it.

i love this scene. his response here is so perfect. apart from checking in and asking if she's okay a couple of times, he hasn't commented on her state of mind in this situation, but he knows she's having a hard time. he supports her decision to take a step back, playing along that it's a "good idea" for her to direct her attention to the tangible evidence, but encourages her to communicate how she's feeling.

and he tells her that to struggle with a case like this is understandable, it doesn't matter how much experience you have or your position, it's normal.

(another understanding that this show always had: to react emotionally to the brutality of the world and the exploitation of the vulnerable is human, it's the people who look at destruction unflinching who are wrong.)

back in D.C., scully sees her therapist. she tries, you guys. scully's "i'm fine" complex has never meant that she ignores a problem or shuts down, she tries to cope in a way that she's comfortable with. she removes herself from the scene. she goes where she'll be more useful. she schedules therapy.

MULDER: Are you staying on there, Scully?

SCULLY: No. I'm coming back tonight.

MULDER: Look, Scully. I know this is a pretty horrific case -

SCULLY: I'm okay with it, Mulder. Besides, you can use my help.

MULDER: Always.

after her session, scully decides to go back. she's okay with it. she's going to keep trying.

this is one of my favorite moments. she spends this entire episode putting on a front, he spends it meeting her exactly where she is; saying, "i see you," but only to comfort, not expose.

her "you can use my help," is one of their jokes. a way to say, "i'm okay, i'm ready," that's lighthearted and doesn't show too much. when he responds, "always," his voice has such a different tone. it's so earnest, and sweet. his response takes her very seriously, her contribution and state of mind and comfort.

she'd told her therapist, "i trust [my partner] as much as anyone. i trust him with my life...but i don't want him to know how much this is bothering me." he already knows.

(her smile on the phone, they are best friends)

i'm gonna borrow from the post linked up top for this next bit:

"Scully’s abduction is the major turning point in terms of how much the job affects her, and Irresistible is basically a replay of her abduction that gives her more control: she gets the catharsis of a fight, and she knows who she’s fighting (men)."

after being taken by pfaster, when she's found, she pulls out one more "i'm fine," but her suppression and image can't withstand confrontation. mulder gently lifts her chin, and the moment she meets his eye, she breaks down crying into his chest. she tries so hard, she has "always been the strong one," she did not want him to know that this was bothering her. but you can't survive it without facing it.

i didn't notice until today that her gag is still around her neck, she's still so ensnared. police are still making arrangements around them. it all just fades away though.

(he's whispering "it's alright," just for her to hear. when she moves her arms to hold onto him, pull him closer, his face breaks. he closes his eyes to keep from crying. he's so careful with her after her abduction, he's never had anyone come back before. this is a moment they're in together, a sort of catharsis after she returned. it's so foreign and painful to be needed, for the first time in so long.)

/ unruhe

unruhe, written by my beloved vince gilligan, is the most introspective that the x-files ever gets on the dichotomous reactions to gendered violence.

"She can hear him, still stomping around inside the trailer, no doubt looking through the pictures carefully, hoping for yet more insight into the depths of the now-dead serial killer’s mind. In the back of her throat, burning acid threatens to force its way up. The luxury of curiosity, she thinks."

-selbst

throughout unruhe, mulder is hyper-focused on gaining an understanding, attempting to find the killer (and at first, the abducted women) by looking into what has been left behind, and dismissing any other courses of action.

ultimately, nothing he does assists in the case at all, and it's scully's connections and discernments that locate schnauz, mulder and herself never on the same page. unlike irresistible's quiet contemplation and gentle understanding, they're consistently frustrated with each other.

(note that in this episode, scully is bound and held captive by a man obsessed with the loss of his sister. a dynamic that she is very aware of, as she asks schnauz, "why [do i need to be saved]? do i remind you of your sister?")

from the moment that schnauz's first victim resurfaces and they do the PET scan (something that only scully is able to read and understand, not mulder. something again rooted in her personal background), there is a shift in scully.

these women are being lobotomized, and they're being lobotomized incorrectly. schnauz is weaponizing medicine that he doesn't have proper knowledge of, and reducing these women into nothing. when mary lefante is found, she is unable to speak, except to repeat over and over the motivation of her captor ("unruhe," the german word for "unrest.")

things escalate when the body of the second victim is found, and in my favorite scene of the episode, mulder and scully quietly observe the remains in horror, before scully just walks off and gets back in the car (in the driver's seat, a rare occurrence).

MULDER: Hey, Scully, that word "unruhe", "unrest", is bothering me. Maybe he thought he was curing them somehow, saving them from damnation, from those things in the pictures, you know, he called them the "howlers."

SCULLY: It's over, Mulder.

MULDER: Well, then that photo wouldn't be his fantasy. It would be his nightmare.

SCULLY: What the hell does it matter?

MULDER: Because I want to know.

SCULLY: I don't.

(She starts the engine. Mulder stares at her for a second, then gets in the car.)

when mulder approaches the car to ramble about "unruhe," scully never looks over at him or makes eye contact. she doesn't wait for him to get in the car before putting on her seatbelt and starting it. it is over.

i've written about this before (in the previously linked post), but mulder always wants to believe that people who do evil things have a good reason, that they didn't really mean to. that they were just trying to help, or were just following a biological imperative. scully knows that it doesn't matter.

it's the ending of 2shy, when mulder is right, incanto is only killing women because he needs their fatty tissue to survive. and he looks at scully and says, "when you look at me, you see a monster, but i was just feeding the hunger." and scully answers, "you're more than a monster. you didn't just feed on their bodies, you fed on their minds."

what the hell does it matter?

ultimately, scully is forced to "empathize" with schnauz, to survive. she has to utilize the insights that mulder gleamed about him to forge a connection with him, and stall. (she is always listening, and she knows mulder is right. sometimes it just doesn't make things any better.)

as the situation progresses, when she hears mulder outside she's able to wrestle her arm out of its constraint and rip the tape off of her mouth. by the time mulder breaks in and shoots schnauz, she's all but freed herself.

mulder takes her hand and helps her up, and she bypasses him, walking out of the trailer into the light, with one last look back at schnauz. she leaves mulder with the body, as he's looking at the photos. (the luxury of curiosity.)

the only time that we see scully show emotion or vulnerability in this episode, is in the final frame. sitting alone in her apartment, she looks at the altered photos of herself, and her lip quivers as we cut to the ending credits.

where irresistible saw her actively trying to gain control, unruhe is more genuine. she's not trying to conceal anything, she's just tired, and she's alone.

/ milagro

ah, milagro. quintessentially season 6 in a way that i can never establish as positive or negative.

milagro is all about desire: a desire for attention, for approval, for relevance. it's only fitting that it should be so punishing.

ultimately, milagro is about voyeurism, and we have this represented through our monster-of-the-week: scully's stalker phillip padgett.

when scully meets padgett (who had recently moved into the apartment next to mulder) in a church, it's to observe the painting displayed there, "my divine heart."

as he reveals that he knew she would be there to see the painting, as well as many personal details that he has "noticed" about her, it's a heavily emotional discomfort to be so seen.

so much of this episode builds in padgett's apartment, just one door over from mulder. when scully knocks, she tells padgett she was on her way next door and just thought she'd stop and return the milagro charm that he'd given her (a symbol of a burning heart) because she "can't return the gesture."

we talked about this when we talked about small potatoes, but this episode is...embarrassing for her! the kind of attention that she craves is embarrassing to her.

when she comes into padgett's apartment, padgett remarks that it's because she's "curious." she notices things too.

SCULLY: Well, you lead a curious life.

PHILLIP PADGETT: It's not so different from yours I imagine-- lonely.

SCULLY: Loneliness is a choice.

loneliness is a choice, babes! the way that small potatoes ended in classification of mulder as a "loser by choice" (for all of the things he could have, and all of the things he chooses not to pursue), and scully absolving him of that criticism, milagro puts the agency of this mutual repression back onto scully.

(choice and agency is a very important reiterated theme in scully's character. this whole thing only works if she chooses to be here.)

and when mulder comes in to arrest padgett based on evidence found in the murder case, scully is in his bedroom by choice. (very very embarrassing for her)

like these tags said, "psychologist mulder taking two years to connect the dots scully laid out for him in never again."

god, this episode makes me so uncomfortable. it's also the only one of these three that i've never rewatched, so that's why i'm a little more lax in discussing it.

MULDER: No one can predict human behavior. No one can tell you what another person's going to do.

SCULLY: Well, isn't that what you do, Mulder, as a behavioral profiler? You … you imagine the killer's mind so well that you know what they're going to do next.

MULDER: If he imagines it, it's a priori-- before the fact. I think that's pretty clear from what he wrote about you.

laughs nervously...isn't that what you do!! don't you know people's minds and desires!!

when mulder tells scully that padgett's book ends with her having sex with the narrator, and asks, "i'm assuming that's a priori too?" it's so reminiscent of office desks and tattoo ink.

when she replies, "i think you know me better than that," they're both thinking of philadelphia, of something etched in her back that they've never put to words. that too, ended in fire, with desire punished.

(i'm always slack jawed at him asking her flat-out if she fucked the stalker. quintessential season 6, baby! eat your heart out!)

PHILLIP PADGETT: I made a mistake myself.

MULDER: What's that, Mr. Padgett?

PHILLIP PADGETT: In my book, I'd written that Agent Scully falls in love but that's obviously impossible. (looking at MULDER) Agent Scully is already in love.

agent scully is already in love, agent scully already desires so viscerally, (agent scully is making things personal, as mulder had rebutted in defense of diana, not long enough ago)

i know a lot of people love this line, but it just makes me want to weep for her. scully is such a discreet person, she values her privacy so much, and has so little of it left. it's the emotional equivalent of her physical exploitation, to have her most personal and intimate feelings exposed like this. 

loneliness is a choice, and that’s her’s to make, the way mulder’s choice was affirmed in small potatoes.

(padgett as a character is a stand-in, he represents the voyeurism of an audience, of projecting a persona onto someone for personal gratification. he isn't ascribed any motive. but this to me, feels like a power trip, even if unintentional. he's perhaps just being honest, but he's recognizing that he can't have her body, so he exposes her soul. he also doesn't know scully as well as he thinks he does.)

both never again and milagro are about a caricaturized self, embracing or rebuking who you are in someone else's eyes. whether scully is perceiving herself as mulder's loyal first mate who "always does as told" or padgett's lonely object of lust, she responds by leaning into that exposure, going where she's wanted, and continuing her ascribed "cycle" of devotion and rebellion.

the reveal in the end, is that this week's monster is not truly padgett, but a character that he's created, who is committing the murders described in his book.

like padgett himself, the killer is a personification of longing; it's him who declares that the only way for the book to conclude, is for scully to die.

but just as jerse did in never again, padgett throws himself in the fire to narrowly absolve scully of the fated ending, and sacrifices his heart for hers.

when mulder realizes what's happening and races back up into his apartment, the sight is bone-chilling. she actually looks dead, unconscious and covered in blood, from a wound that's now healing.

when she wakes up and sees him over her, she reaches for him as abruptly as she opens her eyes. she claws into him, her fingers never stop grabbing at him, pulling him closer and closer and sobbing into his neck.

so little of it actually matters. she almost died without him there. this is after tithonus, and she's remembering those lessons again. (what about love? you don't want to be around when it's gone.)

and just as in irresistible, mulder breaks too, feeling the weight with her.

/

anon, to compare the three, i would say they each represent the theme of their particular place in the narrative and scully's characterization.

irresistible is the fragile dependence of a post-abduction season 2: perceiving comfort as a weakness, fear as a burden, but needing it anyway. recognizing who you trust, what that means, and that wounds can't heal in detachment. from each other and from the brutalization of the world itself.

unruhe is the building isolation of season 4: going where someone can’t follow, whether in societal experience or the looming instability that’s close ahead.

and milagro is the painfully confrontational tension of season 6. having your heart ripped out of your chest, bleeding, in attempts to be understood. just clutching what you need, weeping, in the end: there’s no use fighting it. (or hiding it. loneliness is a choice, but there’s freedom in being stripped of options)

it is a growth, in a diminishment of pretense and self-consciousness. it just comes at a cost.

i also want to bring it back to @scullysflannel’s post on this topic, because she summarized another aspect of it that i didn’t touch on:

“Scully tells the therapist in Irresistible that she doesn’t want Mulder to think he has to protect her, and I feel like the end of Milagro is about Scully accepting his type of protection, and by extension his type of love. Padgett makes her want Mulder to pursue her in a way he’s never done, but Padgett also ultimately shows her the danger of being sought after like that, and it makes Mulder’s straightforward protectiveness look pretty good. it doesn’t matter right then if Mulder is giving her everything she wants. she needs him.”

milagro is about desire, and ultimately it’s about a relinquishing of desire. scully is drawn to padgett because he offers her something that mulder doesn’t (won’t?) give her, and she’s ripped to pieces because of it.

it is punishing, to want something so badly. ultimately, when she almost loses it all, she’s clinging to what she has.

(but mulder is learning too, and they’ll get there. they’ll get to all of it.)

[the-writer-in-the-winter-forest]

One Less Burden

Summary: Miguel goes to clear his head after a nightmare and to process his current findings of an Earth where another version of him exists.

Features: Miguel O'Hara, Lyla, and Earth-928's Curt Connors.

Warnings: (Very small ones, but I'm being considerate) Depictions of panic attacks, depression, and anxiety.

Whump, hurt/comfort, angst fic!

Authors Note: From the winner of my Miguel SFW poll, the people asked for angst, and angst is what you shall get!!

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It was just a dream.

Of course, it was a dream, none of it made any sense. The images, the scenarios, none of it made sense, none of it could have been possible. That didn't make the fear of it any less real though.

Miguel's trembling hands run along the back of his neck where his skin is damp and hot. His ears are ringing like an early warning system. This must be what a spider sense feels like, is it?  Research and first-hand accounts of others suggest differently. If this is how it feels, Miguel already hates it. Pushing his palms against his ears, he breaths deeply and hard to help drown out the ringing.

Miguel pulls the bed sheets off him, feeling suffocated and cold due to their dampness. Every inch of him wanted to go running and dive into a freezing lake, the shock alone would be enough to shift back his scenes to reality. 

It ends up being the soft voice of a certain AI that ends up doing so instead. “Miguel?” 

He should have known that it wasn't going to take Lyla long to show up. Her small form appears on Miguel's left bedside table looking concerned. “Your heart rate and blood pressure are elevated.” She scrolls through the display in front of her showcasing Miguel's vitals. 

“Lyla,” He sighs, sounding more tired than annoyed. “What did we discuss about monitoring my vitals?” It's a rhetorical question, of course, more so a reminder to Lyla not to monitor him while he sleeps, especially while he sleeps, it’s creepy. 

“Should I talk to Doctor Connors about getting you back on some sleep aids?”

Pills, meds, there's always one or the other to treat something of his. Whether it be Rapture, anxiety, depression, or his restless nights. It feels like there’s so much of Miguel that can’t be lessened without the help of a special little pill. 

Lyla's expression softened when she sees how worn down Miguel looks. But his weariness is nothing new and Lyla's sympathy hasn't lessened. Her partner is in pain, and there are sadly more limitations to her than anyone else. What is the use of being as advanced as she is if she couldn't help in the ways she wants? She watches his hands trace over the various scars on his upper body, they seem to be the only tangible thing keeping him in this moment. He doesn’t want to go back to sleep, yet the exhaustion still lingers heavily around him.

“Yeah…that sound like a good idea.” Miguel presses his forehead against his knuckles forcing himself to try to feel drowsy. Let his exhaustion take him. “Get me in for a session with Doctor Keaton too if you can.”

“You got it, Boss.” Lyla watches Miguel carefully when he retrieves an autoinjector from his side table drawer. Even she winces when the needle pierces into Miguel's shoulder. But compared to everything else, it's the only pain that lasts a few seconds. “Maybe you should take the day off.” It’s a statement, not phrased as a question. She doesn't want her tone to sound passive. She had been hesitant to even make the suggestion. Even without having an intellect such as her or even if she hadn't known Miguel very well, she would have known the answer. But even with that, for Miguel's sake, she’ll continue to hope that there will be more days than not that he’ll allow himself some moments of peace. His wide eyes follow him out to the terrace of his bedroom to look at the city lights below him.

“Tell Jess and Curt to look after things for a bit. I’m going out.” His hands grip the railing tightly, he’s careful not to dent it.

Lyla looks in disbelief at this remark. Guess it's never too late to rely on others. “Going out wh-” Before the AI can ask for any further information, which really would have been appropriate considering Miguel just leaped from the terrace, diving down into the city below. Without Lylas' deadpanned expression, anyone else would have considered this cause for worry. He's so dramatic. "He’s really gotta stop doing that.” She grumbles before evaporating from the room. 

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The rushing chill of the night along with the soft rain against his naked body, mixed with the fiery adrenaline pumping through his system the further and further he falls, it’s actually peaceful to him. When he’s ready his suit encases him.

It’s rainy nights like these that make Miguel think back to when he and his brother Gabe were kids. They’d make paper boats and race them along the stream near their house. When the rain came, the stream would pick up, which made the conditions for boat racing perfect. 

Not wanting to be bothered for the rest of the evening, Miguel shuts off the receiver in his suit that holds, manifests, and can summon Lyla. Of course, she doesn't exist solely in his suit. She’s a free-range AI, as Miguel liked to refer to her, though Lyla grimaced at the idea of being compared to a farm animal. “Those chickens aren't solving interdimensional travel equations with the eggs they lay, Boss.” He remembers her telling him.

He needs time to himself without Lyla monitoring him. He hasn't been himself lately. Everything inside of him feels gnarled, raw, and exposed like an open wound. No. He’s had opened wounds before, and they don't hurt like this. The misery hurts worse than any physical injury he’s received over the years. Those can be bandaged, stitched, and iced, only simple fixes like ones that can be solved with a pill. 

Never before had he been so happy to be beating down muggers and robbers. This distraction is very much needed. It’s not a healthy way of dealing with his anger. He’s better than this, letting his frustrations get to him, and yet here he is, still angry.

He swings and leaps past the tall buildings, past the busy motorized streets, passing like a blur, almost unnoticeable. It's only when he finds a good spot to perch and rest for a moment that he can stop and think, be truly alone, and just think. Think about what’s been on his mind for the past seven months. 

It was childish to call it unfair. But it’s how he feels. It’s wrong and unfair. He feels that fact burning at his core. But how it plays out..it’s wrong, too.

He had stumbled across Earth-829 purely by accident, purely by chance. He almost didn't believe it. All looked too perfect to be true. An Earth where he wasn't alone, he has a wife, a daughter, people who love him…or rather, someone like him. Seeing it all the way it was made him angry, envious even. And the most cruel part of it all is that he knows it doesn't end well. Not too long from now, the alternate version of him will meet a tragic and sudden end. His family would be distraught, his wife, and his daughter in despair. Daughter, he has a daughter. Miguel shakes his head. She isn't yours, you idiot.

He hasn't told anyone about what he found, not Lyla, not Jess, not Curt, or his wife Carmen. No one. The reason for that is that he can’t imagine what any of them would say if Miguel were even to suggest it

There's no way he couldn't, shouldn't! This idea of his, this insane idea, shouldn't be keeping him awake at night. No part of him should be entertaining it. Leave it alone, leave it be, let it play out the way it’s supposed to, he’d tell himself all this over and over again, because it may have been what anyone else would have told him. Why can’t he just be content with the way things are now? The overwhelming nature of it all was swarming him.

Miguel freezes at the edge of his perch, his nerves and senses overloading. The leap to the next building over should have been nothing that would make him stop this cold. And yet the distance made everything spin. Memories of his childhood once again come flooding back to him. His brother had taken him up onto the roof of their house when he was no older than eight, it terrified him so badly, he wouldn't stop screaming until his parents finally managed to get him down. It's been years since he got over his fear of heights. Why has it suddenly made a reappearance after all this time? He hadn't even noticed that the rain had stopped, nothing was registering, no lights, sounds, nothing. His chest tightens, and his breathing becomes slow and shallow. His systems are overloading. 

“Lyla...” The words barely escape Miguel's lips before he collapses clutching his chest. “...help..”

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His hearing is the first thing to come back to him.

The loud ringing is replaced by soft murmurs, voices that he couldn't recognize as they phased in and out.

The soft, low light on his bedside table made him feel safe. The warmth of his bed instead of the wet hard ground where he had…

Miguel springs forward in bed, having a brief recollection of Deja Vu from only a few hours ago. He immediately tenses, grabbing his shoulder. From the look of it, the skin is heavily bruised. Surprisingly, taken off her guard by Miguel's sudden return to consciousness, Lyla waves her game away, dissolves herself, and then reappears. 

“Hey, easy, Boss.” She speaks soothingly. “Everything's ok, just breath.” Miguel listens to Lyla, breathing slowly and steadily. He’s safe. He’s alright. “I pinpointed your location when you contacted me. It was so strange that I wasn't able to track you once you left the building.” Lylas is never shy about showcasing her classic sarcasm. Especially when it comes to Miguel. "From what I could gather, you blacked out due to over exertion. I dispatched some of the others. Once they found you, they brought you back here.” She pauses, allowing Miguel to collect his thoughts while also regretting her snarky comment from just a few moments ago. That regret is what makes her not immediately ask Miguel why he had been found unconscious on a rooftop in the rain and in the middle of the night. He’s still collecting himself. She doesn't want to push him.

“Thank you.” Miguel breathes laying back down, looking at his AI assistant with great appreciation.

“I’m always here, Boss.” She reassures him. “Plus, you pulled me out of a 1v1 pong match with myself.”

Miguel stares at Lyla with pure confusion. “Pong?”

Lyla's hologram flickers when she shrugs. “Eh, I wanted to see what the hype was about. back in the 70's”

“And what did you find out?” Miguel asks, sounding genuinely curious as to what conclusion the AI could have come to. 

“People in the 70’s were wierd.”

“You always were more of a Tetris girl anyway.”

Lyla gives a look that can’t argue with that fact. Her eyes behind her heart-shaped glasses turn worried again. She phrases her words carefully so as to not freak Miguel out any more than he just had been. “Are you ok?”

The way that she asks that question tells Miguel that it has more than one meaning. And he knows which one Lyla is asking, it’s the one that he can’t tell her the truth about, the one where he has a solution, but he just can’t seem to trust anyone with it. He needs to tell someone, tell them what he’s found and what that could mean for him. Lyla can see how hard he is thinking about her simple question. It is simple, right? She thinks back to her limitations, here's another shining example of her inability to help, her inability to comprehend something that is so simple for an AI, but almost impossible for a human. 

“Can you message Curt? Tell him I need to talk to him?”

It didn't take long for Curt to arrive. Miguel allowed him access to his room when he heard his knock at the door. He’s much shorter than Miguel, with a slim build and dark hair. Under his lab coat, he was dressed sharply and professionally. If Miguel had known Lyla longer than he had known Curt Connors, maybe she would have been the one that he would have told this all to. But Curt has been there since Miguel's accident at Alchemax. Helped him by creating a knock-off brand of Rapture that will, over time, diminish his need for the drug. He headed the science and research division of the Spider Society. It took many great minds to keep this place running smoothly. All the scientists, doctors, and engineers had once worked with Miguel and Curt at Alchemax but had broken off when discovering more of the company's darker secrets. They were folks who had been misguided, just looking to make amends.

Curt knew a bit about past mistakes himself. He takes a moment to look Miguel up from head to toe before telling him, “I’m glad you’re ok.”

Miguel gives a nod propping himself up on his pillows. “What did Carmen say?” 

Doctor Connors sighs, pulling up a chair to sit at his friend's bedside. “I may still be learning my wife’s native language, but I can recognize the curse words in en español. Which I don't think is that impressive. Then again, she knows many of the curse words in Mandarin, so we’re both equally terrible, I guess, to each other's cultures.” He shrugs none nonchalantly, laughing at the scenario. “Lyla told me that you’re not sleeping well again.”

Miguel shakes his head, not wanting to focus on that specific issue at the moment. “That’s not why I asked you to come up here.”

“If it was to confess your deep romantic feelings for me I’m sorry to say that you’re too late, I’ve been off the market for the past year.” Miguel raises his eyebrow towards the doctor, indicating his want for him to understand that this conversation isn't the time for jokes. Curt makes quick work to rearrange himself. “Just kidding." He gestures his hand. "Proceed.”

Miguel takes another deep breath, thinking about how to phrase what he’s about to tell his friend. He has to tell someone, he’s been struggling with this for months, and keeping it to himself was adding to this weight inside of him more and more with each passing day. Maybe it was time to lift some of the burdens he was giving himself. 

Miguel looks at Curt with every bit of seriousness he can muster trusting himself and trusting his friend. All cards are on the table.

“I found something... and I don't know what to do with it”

[hexfloog]

2021 - 2022 - 2023 - 2024 - 2025

Can you believe there's barely 10 days left to the year?? Because I can't! Time to lay my feelings bare again!!!

So I definitely slowed down quite a bit compared to 2022, but I still made enough to fill the template and, in spite of everything else, lots of life development things happened these last 365 days that I think makes 2023 one of my best years in recent memory :)

I have less to say about the art this time. The drop in quantity checks out when I stop to reflect on just how much time I spent on each one. I definitely don't have as many sketchy works to show off this time either (probably in no small part due to the fact that I've also slowed down on Detco) - and that's probably owed to having spent most of my art effort this year drawing for other people, be it commissions or fan projects, and I already know that I'm more inclined to take risks when I have just myself to please. It's not a bad thing, that's just how it is.

I suppose my one observation of this year's body of work is that the vast majority of it is quite ambitious. Real pushing-my-comfort-zone stuff, but it's more of a polished brand of risk rather than the kind you get sketching ideas on the spot. Some examples:

February - both a collab and a thing that became a fan cel intended as an autograph piece at a con

April - simultaneously a gift and a very personal piece

June - silly comic (anything humorous is automatically out of my comfort zone)

August - community project + comic page redraw that really tested my ability to find a new style to play with

September - made to become tangible merch (it did)

October - redraw of my very first digital piece

November* - character design from text description only and formal reference sheet commission (my first ever)

December* - digital watercolor + fake children's paperback cover

*active WIP, not yet complete

It's not that much (really, it's average output for me) but I will take my wins where I can get them, especially since this is pretty much the scope of my art projects this year. Didn't really have much time or energy to write, or make more models, or scan more cards, because... ya girl was too busy getting a promotion/raise, moving out, enjoying the best con experience of her life (so far), volunteering, meeting lots of new people, dating again, having general fun, eating good food, trying new things, finishing a monthly art challenge for once, playing creative romhacks, waking up to new career opportunities, etc. etc. etc! It feels like so much happened this year!!

I tend to be harsh on myself and often feel like my life is not going anywhere, but this year really made me feel like I'm finally gaining some momentum again. And like... I don't expect (or want) to live life in the fast lane or anything, but stagnating isn't good, either, and with every passing year I have to ask myself with a little more sincerity what my future looks like.

So all that said, thanks very much for sticking around and suffering me another year <333 Who knows what 2024 will bring!! But for the first time in a while, I think I am looking to it with more than just a resigned "meh" and I hope the same for anyone reading this, too.

[aressida]

Old entry: My entry: "QDiary: It all starts with ourselves." - Aressida. 31.5.19.

When you are born, the world hands you stories.

A long history of words that are meant to create you. Burn them. And write your own truth. Or you could also not live according to any stories and really be free. You choose. It is your own destiny.

In order to properly release any parts of yourself that you no longer resonate with, you must understand the root cause of these behaviors.

I do not know if you need to learn to yourself first or not, but if you cannot love yourself also, your heart is not yet fully open. Love yourself where you are right now, stop beating yourself up for not being where you want to be yet.

Stop comparing yourself to others who seem to be in the position you see yourself in and desire. Appreciate this specific part of your journey, right here and now. You are not failing because you are not there yet. you need these lessons you are getting right now, you need these setbacks.

The knowledge you are gaining right now will deepen into wisdom with time. There is no need to rush. You are anxious because you can sense your future. You know what is around the corner, waiting for you, you can feel it and it feels good and you want that feeling to be tangible and real.

It is coming.

Do nightmares make us feel vulnerable or does feeling vulnerable give us nightmares?

Just because you got thrown off the path does not mean that it is not part of the path.

The mind creates confusion with words and illusion blocking the truth. The ego tries to see only what is lacking and demands more.

The heart is wiser and stronger. It knows what is and what is not and accepts both equally as a gift.

This is where the true reprogramming and healing yourself begins. Life is hard enough. Wish only for people to be happy. Including yourself.

As you improve yourself, you may meet people who tell you that you are already perfect. They are not wrong, but this is not your reality. You still have toxic cycles, negative emotions, unhealed wounds, generational curse, bad tendencies, and so on.

Be realistic and face yourself.

You are growing in ways you do not realize yet. You are all overcoming. You are being pushed out of your comfort zone to step into your truth. It is all about evolving. It is all about letting go and allowing change to take place.

It all starts with ourselves.

When we heal ourselves: -We heal the collective. -We heal the planet. -We heal all those that we are connected to. -We heal our ancestors and our generational karma. -We heal the future versions of ourselves as well as the past.

If the love you give does not facilitate your growth, then it is time to reevaluate your self-talk and habits. If the love you receive does not help you to grow and expand, Then it is time to reevaluate the people who you surround yourself with.

Love always invites you to embrace the highest thoughts about yourself. To understand your true value, you have to look deep within yourself.

Be easy on yourself as you are healing. Accept things as they are in the present as you strive to change yourself. Until we heal our wounds, honor the inner child, acknowledge our insecurities, accept the darkest parts of ourselves, we will continue to be held down.

Keep breathing through it all. Everything will make sense soon.

We are all alchemists transmuting our own consciousness.

So much of my writing consists of the deep pain I have experienced throughout my life. This is how I heal. I dive into the depths of the pain because of how much lighter and wiser I become once I rise from the ashes once more.

I am always reminded of how guided I am. I am what the Universe created me to be.

Dear Universe, I wanna take a minute, not to ask for anything from you. But simply to say thank you, for all I have.

Never let people’s negative thoughts about you hinder you from accomplishing what God put in your heart.

Dare to dream and dare to live it.

[beautifulpersonpeach]

this is something of a random ask but i spend a lot of time on reddit and i've noticed something about sm stans. they don't just resent bts, they /hate/ hybe. more than any other type of kpoppie bpp, sm stans' hate spreads beyond just bts, it affects the other groups, they hate the idea of hybe itself. everything hybe does is bad, everything hybe does is actually of inferior quality to sm, everything from hybe must be treated as inherently questionable, mediocre and ultimately second-rate to everything from sm. even the most staunch hybe stans don't talk like this about hybe compared to other companies. they don't even bring up sm at all unless in reply to someone else, usually an sm stan making comparisons unprovoked in favor of sm. at least, talking to some hybe stan bffs this year, they weren't even as into the sm-hybe-kakao drama as the sm stans were.

what i'm asking bpp, is if you've seen this yourself. why are they like this? big 3 stans in general have this weird chip on their shoulder but sm stans have this intense vitriol for not just armys but hybe also and it's mad weird.

sorry for venting in your inbox bpp. you ignored my other asks and i don't blame you if you ignore this one. i didn't mean to trauma dump. i feel comfortable offloading in your space after seeing crazy take after crazy take on reddit. it's hard to even write "hybe" and "good" in the same sentence there without an sm stan breathing down your neck for typing it. i'm curious if there's a different sort of animus stans of sm groups have towards hybe specifically, if you see it and can explain why. but it's okay if you don't, i feel better already just being in your space.

***

That last line is kinda creepy ngl.

Maybe take a break off Reddit? I've not been on there for a while but I can't imagine it's changed much - it's just a place for k-pop stans who don't actually know what they're talking about but also like to argue, and a place for actual fanatics and nerds, to find community. I found my community offline so I've not been active on Reddit since like 2018 and I don't miss it. But if you'd rather remain active on Reddit, the only other unsolicited advise I'll give is to master the art of not giving a fuck. I'm not trying to plug the self-help book of the same title (I think), what I'm saying is that the groups you love are better served by you appreciating them, hyping them up, speaking about them in positive contexts, than going back and forth in comment threads arguing with people. If someone is spreading blatant misinformation, it's best to always correct them. But if it's just hate, personally, it's easy for me to ignore it or at worst if it's actually egregious, report it. I'm convinced the majority of k-pop stans (and a sizable proportion of people in the ARMY fandom including solos), just aren't good people. It's reflected in practically everything about how this sub-culture operates. So a natural inclination towards thinking for yourself and not giving a fuck enough to ignore obviously disturbed people or even just opinions you disagree with, will serve you well. This is how I'd recommend you deal with Reddit.

That said, yeah many fans of SM groups do exhibit a tangible sense of contempt for HYBE specifically. I actually spent almost the entire time reading your ask laughing, because man, there are reasons for why this is but I'm way too sober to get into it now. Maybe one day I will. Because for years I was fascinated by how, even k-pop noobs who become stans of SM groups, take on the same hostile countenance towards HYBE specifically compared to the other Big 3 companies. After watching this pattern repeat for years, finally at some point it clicked for me why. But anyway, we'll get into that someday.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Frigid.

Pairing: Yandere!Rosaria/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.5k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Modern AU, Non-Con, Semi-Public Sex, Drug Use, Toxic Relationships, Victim-Blaming, Implied Past Assult, Dissociation.

Touching Rosaria was like touching ice.

Or, like having ice touch you, at least. She didn’t like it when you touched her – if she did, she wouldn’t have her hand clamped around your wrist, right now, there wouldn’t be a chill washing over your skin, inching towards your chest, making your heart beat a little faster every time the threat of frostbite began to seem more like a strong possibility than a distant fantasy. It was jarring, really, compared to the heat of the bodies around you, dancing and moving and sweltering, despite how crowded the club felt, despite how much you wished they would stop. You’d been the one who wanted to come, you were the one who usually liked this kind of thing, but suddenly, the music was too loud, everyone was too close, you could still feel your last drink burning at the back of your throat. It was all too much. It was all too hot.

Except Rosaria, of course. Never Rosaria.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt warm, around her.

She was sticking close to the walls, thankfully. You were glad you’d chosen a smaller club, easier for Rosaria to navigate as she dragged you across the cramped space. It was too dark to see where she was going, darker than it usually was, but you didn’t mind letting her pull you along. You were used to it, the graceless way she pushed through couples and groups and inebriated patrons, the quiet apologies you let out as you followed her, how easy your own feet were to trip over as the bright, flashing lights and the sour flavor coating your tongue made it more and more difficult to think. It was almost a relief when she found what she was looking for – the side exit, the one you liked to use whenever you got too overwhelmed. It was sweet that she’d thought to use it tonight, too, even if you couldn’t remember telling her about your little escape route.

The alleyway it opened into was narrow, just as dark and just as stifling as the club, but the music wasn’t as loud, the air wasn’t as choking, and more importantly, you were able to collapse into Rosaria, burying your head in your chest as she caught you by the shoulders, begrudgingly accepting your clumsy affection. She didn’t like being touched, but you really liked touching her. It made sense that she’d make an exception for you, in the moment, at least. She always made an exception for you.

“Rosey,” You started, slurring the nickname into something near-incomprehensible. There was a tap to your shoulder, a row of blunt nails skirting across bare skin. In the back of your mind, you wondered if she was mad at you. “I can’t… It’s too warm, Rosey. My head hurts.”

“Obviously.” Her tone was lighter than it usually was, more playful. Not quite patient, not yet, but more sympathetic than she usually bothered to be. Like she was talking to a child, rather than a friend. Like the two of you hadn’t already done this a hundred times. “You overdid it, princess. You’re drunk.”

You shook your head, absent-mindedly. You didn’t feel drunk. You felt… dizzy. Out of it. Disoriented in such a way that meant trying to find out why you were struggling to keep your balance only made you more likely to fall. “You had more than I did,” You mumbled, because it was true. You knew how Rosaria could be. You’d wanted to be good, tonight, even if she claimed to be content nursing her third glass of wine. “’s not fair. I’m don’t even feel that—”

“You’re always so careless, too,” She said, cutting you off. Speaking over you, like you’d never said anything at all. Her grip tightened, and you backed away, pressing yourself against the nearest wall. Rosaria didn’t let go. “Drinking so much, staying out so late… It’s a miracle you haven’t learned your lesson, yet. I’m a little surprised no one’s ever taken advantage of you.”

Your heart dropped in your chest. The wall was unpainted, uneven, bare cement and little else. It hurt to touch, to lean against, especially with Rosaria resting her weight on you. It hurt to move, when you finally thought to fidget. “You're being mean,” You whispered, and her hand fell to your hip. Your dress was too thin, too tight. It felt like you were bleeding out in a snowbank. “Would someone really do that?”

“I would.” She was too close. She was too cold. You didn’t find the constant chill comforting, anymore. “In a heartbeat. Especially after you start acting like such a fucking tease.”

You wanted to go home. There was something pounding in the back of your skull, now, throbbing, blocking out whatever Rosaria might’ve said, making it impossible to process anything but the black dots fraying at the edges of your vision and Rosaria’s lips, chapped and painted red and on your neck, the corner of your jaw, only lingering for a moment before her teeth dug into your jugular and you screamed, the shrill sound immediately cut short by a palm against your mouth, keeping you quiet despite the little whimpers you let out as she pulled back, allowing something warm to run over your skin and pool near your collarbone. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it would get on your dress, if it would leave a stain. You wondered if she would apologize, when it did.

“Spoiled little brat,” She growled, nearly under her breath. Her grip loosened, Rosaria shifting, but any reprieve was short-lived, quickly replaced by two fingers pressed into your tongue and a row of nails clawing at your waist, pulling at your skirt, leaving you to gag and whimper as ice-cold fingertips dug into your thigh, cold enough to leave you trembling. She wasn’t holding you, not really, not tightly enough to call it restraint, but your body felt weak, your legs were shaking, and you couldn’t imagine trying to run. You couldn’t imagine trying to stand. You were almost thankful for the knee she forced between your thighs, for the trace of stability she thought to offer. You wanted to be thankful. You were trying to be thankful. “No talking, alright? I need you to keep quiet. Can you do that for me?”

Right. Obviously. Rosaria was so smart. She always knew what to do, so she must’ve been right, and she was so kind, too, letting her fingers slip out of your mouth as soon as you offered her the small, eager nod she was looking for. You were glad she was wearing leather, a jacket a size too big and pants that clung to her like a second skin – it gave you something tangible to hold onto, something to hide your face in, even if you hated the texture, the sound, the way it felt under you as she cupped your pussy and some thin piece of fabric tore, forcing you to shy into her just a little more. You almost asked why. If she didn't like your dress, she could’ve just told you. If she didn’t like you, she could’ve said so in a way that didn’t make you feel so…

So bad.

“You said you were hot.” Rosaria was talking before you could, though, explaining herself. Why was she allowed to talk? Part of you wavered, flickered, realized that she wasn’t being fair, that she wasn’t being nice, but Rosaria was good at this kind of thing. She must’ve known something you didn’t. That’d make sense. She knew a lot of stuff, compared to the handful of foggy ideas that separated your mind from total oblivion. “I’m just helping you out. You’re not stupid enough to turn down help, are you?”

You shook your head. You weren’t, even if she chuckled at your meek response, even if you couldn’t see how grinding her hand into your cunt could help you feel anything but hot, like you’d been in the sun for an hour too long. Like you were being burnt alive, and Rosaria was the one stoking the flames.

Your thoughts were spinning, now, twisting, spiraling, the need to shut your eyes and make it stop almost overshadowing the slick building up between your legs, that awful, sticky feeling that made you squirm, holding Rosaria tighter and attempting to weakly push her away at the same time. The embarrassment was palpable, that nagging sense of shame, only made worse by Rosaria’s huff of a laugh, by the lingering sensation of her teeth ghosting over your skin and the way you jolted into her, anything intelligent you might’ve said replaced by a small, submissive whimper. It was embarrassing. You wanted it to stop. You wanted her to stop.

But, she didn’t. She wouldn't. You couldn't force her to.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to ask.

It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel like much of anything, honestly, as her fingers slipped below the black lace of your panties, as she toyed with your clit and drank in those pathetic sounds you might’ve thought someone else was making, if your own voice hadn’t been so recognizable. Your body was too numb, your nerves already too burnt, Rosaria’s chest too cold where it pressed against yours, like your life depended on little more than ice and sleet. It didn’t feel good, but your face must’ve been flushed, your pupils blown out, your scrunched expression littered with hints that you were in anything but agony. Rosaria sounded smug. She wouldn’t sound like that, not unless you gave her a reason to. She wouldn’t do that to you, not unless she thought you deserved it.

“For fuck’s sake,” She drawled, slowly, like she didn’t have anywhere better to be. She didn’t have anywhere better to be. She wouldn’t have bothered to spend time with you, otherwise. “You’re already so damn wet. If I’d known you’d be this needy, I wouldn't have bothered with the fucking pills.”

You opened your mouth, but you were barely able to get out a strangled cry before something was inside of you, your panties pushed to the side and two long fingers scissoring you open, too quickly, too suddenly, too violently. It was like she’d broken a dam, like some necessary barrier had been crossed and crushed, like everything you’d lacked, earlier, everything your mind had been merciful enough to block out came flooding in for the first time. There was the sting, tight and tearing and impatient, but there was pleasure, too, something beyond awareness, something beyond discomfort. It was a fire, smoldering and invasive, and you didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way your hips bucked to meet her hand, or the new weight behind your eyes, or her smirk, her smile, her self-satisfied sneer. You didn’t like that she was happy. You didn’t like that you were in pain, and she was happy. If you were being honest with yourself, you might’ve been able to admit you didn’t like Rosaria at all, right now.

“S-Stop, Rosey, it hurts—” She had a pattern, now, a tangible pace, a vengeance you wished you'd never provoked. She must’ve hated you. She must’ve. You couldn’t think of another reason she’d curl her fingers like that, another reason she’d abuse every sensitive spot that made you whine and tremble and tense-up, another reason she’d be so mean, especially to you, especially now, especially here. It wouldn’t even matter if you made noise, if you cried out, if you screamed. It couldn’t be louder than your rapid heartbeat, your racing pulse, the wet clicks that only got worse as Rosaria slipped a third finger in and left you to clench around her, too humiliated to care about the slight pain. “Please, I don’t wanna—”

“What did I say about talking?” She was being cold again, ruthless, but it was a playful sort of cruelness, her tone just lilted enough to make you feel guilty for trying to convince yourself she was such a monster. “You don’t want to what? Sit pretty and let me do all the work? Stand there and cum?” There was a laugh, a flick of her wrist, and the heel of her hand came up to grind against your clit. Instantly, you wished you’d never said anything at all. “Do it. Make yourself useful, for once. Cum.”

You didn’t want to. You really, really, really didn’t want to, but there was nothing you could do to stave it off, to get away from it, to keep your knees from buckling or your body from going rigid or Rosaria from kissing you, stifling the breathy moan that threatened to spill out between choked sobs and quiet pleas for her to stop. At least she was gentle about it, as gentle as she could be, pointed canines barely cutting at your lips, a cloud of lingering cigarette smoke barely choking you, her touch barely forceful enough to bruise, as she cupped your cheek with her free hand, tilting your head back and encouraging you to lean into the gesture.

It was almost sweet, how she lingered, how she didn’t pull away until after the aftershocks had faded, until you’d stopped trying to resist, until you were too tired to do anything but collapse into her when she let you go, catching you the moment you threatened to fold into yourself. It was a small mercy. You didn’t want to spend the rest of the night on the ground, sobbing yourself to sleep in some dark, claustrophobic alley. You didn’t want to do that. You didn’t want to be here.

You just wanted to be with Rosaria. You just wanted to be anywhere else, with her.

“Rosey,” you tried, testing the waters. You tried to blink, to stand up on your own, but your eyelids felt heavy, you felt heavy. Rosaria only hummed, in response, snaking an arm around your waist. Already, you were struggling to remember why you couldn’t stand. You were struggling to remember why it hurt so much, when you tried to. “I… I’m not having fun, anymore. Can we go home?”

“You’re lucky I like you, princess.” You were. She was such a good friend, and she always came out drinking with you, and she always took care of you the day afterward, too, when you were sore and hungover and, more often than not, too bruised and battered to get out of bed. Even if the kiss she pressed into the top of your head made you shiver, even if the ghost of her icy breath made your skin crawl, even if a part of you was still begging to keep her at a distance, you were lucky to have her. You were thankful you had her, thankful enough to ignore how low her hands dipped as she held you up, thankful enough to stop yourself from thinking about the slick dripping down your thighs, and the cut on the side of your neck, and the chalk coating your tongue, tasteless and unremarkable, but not completely unfamiliar.

Thankful enough to look up at her and smile, as she finally sapped away the last of your warmth.

“Let’s go home.”

[mintmatcha]

reupload because tumblr decided my readmore link on the original shouldn’t work anymore!!!!

Late Night Chat

MattsunxReader

CW: mentions of depression, established relationship, angst/fluff (happy ending)

You know Mattsun’s awake before he even speaks. The way he’s lying- face up, hands neatly folded in his stomach- is so strangely stiff compared to usual, it makes your skin crawl with worry. It’s cold without Issei wrapped around you, without his soft steady  breathing, without his nose buried into your hair. You can hear the soft sound of fingernail against skin and, even with sheets and night shrouding him, you can tell he’s picking at his hang nails again. Your eyes dart to check the clock. 3:14. Has he slept at all? 

“Can I talk to you about something? It’s important.” the shake in his voice, the unfamiliar tremor that immediately shakes off the cobwebs of sleep, tells you he can’t wait until morning. You turn, admiring how the ambient light peeking through your blinds from the street below catches his profile. His brows are knitted together, lip is caught between his teeth.  Maybe it’s a trick of the light, something about the soft orange glow, but he seems older now, almost worn. 

This is unfamiliar territory. Mattsun is always so nonchalant with his feelings, so dismissive about any sort of concern. It was rare to see him upset about anything; in fact, you could count the number of times he was anything other than pleasant on one hand. If you noticed a distant look and heavy sigh, Mattsun would consistently dismiss your concerns with a peck and a hollow laugh. The laugh. It made your brain buzz with worry whenever he pulled it out. It was high and tinny, obviously practiced. He was a bad liar,  you knew something was weighing him down from the droop of his shoulder, from the scabs on his nail beds, but it seemed wrong to press further. Every time you did, he would retreat further from you, reinforcing his facade, hiding behind a wall impossible to break.

“Of course, Issei.” you murmur, somehow feeling if you raised your voice louder than a whisper, you would break the spell.

“I just.. Sometimes.” His eyes shift to meet yours, then dart back to the ceiling, like he was caught breaking some unspoken rule. “Ah, geez, can you turn around, maybe? I can’t say it when you’re looking at me.”

Your own anxiety is building, fears that you can’t quite form into tangible thoughts squirming around in your head, but you oblige, turning face the wall. He shifts as well, mirroring you. Pressing his back against you, he loops a leg between yours, tangling himself. You turn your head slightly, catching only the outline of his shoulder against the darkness. 

“Hey, no peeking.” With every breath he presses farther into your back, searching for the comfort of your presence. Silence weighs heavy between you and, for a second, you fear that the moment has passed- that Mattsun has retreated back into his shell. “I just wanted to let you know…”

He breathes out slowly as he pulls the blanket closer to him.

“Sometimes, I get sad.” he’s almost swallowing his words, trying his hardest not to be heard, face pressed against the pillow. The soft picking sound of his nails against skin grows faster as he continues. “Like, really sad. So sad my body aches ‘nd my brain feels numb.. And there’s no reason to feel like that, but I do.”

You resist the urge to turn over, instead just tilting your head back into the space between his shoulder blades. He only hums at the contact before continuing.

“It’s just hard.” he continues. His voice is so unusually delicate, teetering on the brink of breaking. “Because sometimes I- I- god, it sounds so stupid,” he hisses out ‘stupid’ like it’s a curse. “but I get so tired. I can’t even bother to do basic shit some days. It’s pathetic. 

“ They said the meds would help, and they do mostly, but sometimes it still feels like there’s this- this- blanket over my head, weighing me down and I just wanna lay down and sleep. But, I’m trying not to be like that, for you, ‘cause-."

“Can I look at you now?” 

Mattsun snaps his jaw shut so hard that the sound makes you jump. “Fuck. Not yet, I just-”  Silence lulls over him before he draws in a shaking breath. Mattsun rolls over carefully, enveloping you in his long limbs. One arm drapes over your chest limply, as if he’s afraid to hold any tighter. You lift your head instinctively to let him prop his arm underneath, but instead his fingers find your hair. He twirls a loose strand between his fingers, inspecting the way it moves with almost too much curiosity. He’s distracting himself, you decide. Even though he’s next to you again, the comforting feeling of warmth against your skin back, he feels so far away. “I just wanna say a little more. I can’t say it if you’re looking at me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to look disappointed.” he breathes, “And that’s gonna hurt me.”

Instinctively, you begin to move again, but the way Mattsun recoils, fingers flexing, shoulders bunching, reminds you of the boundaries. “Issei, why would I ever be-?”

“Because…” he grumbles, trying to gather his words, “I’m going to keep talking and you’re going to realise you’re too good for me. That I’m not as good as you think I am. 

His hand flexes into a fist, resting under the soft dip of your breast, with a heavy sigh.  “I just wanted to let you know now.” he says finally. “Before you, like, plan a future with me or something.”

“Issei, don’t say that.” you whisper, placing a hand over his. He tenses for a moment, before pulling you into him, tucking his knees into the backs of yours. 

“I’m sorry.” he says to the hair in between his fingers as he continues his ministrations. 

“Issei.” strain your neck to see him, searching his surprisingly flat expression for…. Something. Anything. "Can I please turn around now?”

Mattsun answers by relaxing his grip, giving you the freedom to roll into his chest and clutch at the fabric of his shirt. For a split second, you’re acutely aware of how he smells- the lavender body wash you had bought him to replace the 3-in-1 he used to love, the dryer sheets that he always uses too many of, and, underneath it all, the scent of him. Breathing deep, you nestle further into him. Despite how composed he managed to keep himself, his heart betrays him; you can feel the way his heartbeat tattooed across his skin even through his clothing. You open to speak, but words fail you.

Instead, you tug on his shirt and in the dim, you can see his eyes widen ever so slightly as he comes to you. With only the tilt of your head, your lips meet, only slightly off the mark from each other. The kiss is sloppy, disjointed and desperate, barely clinging on to each other. His breath, hot against your face, hitches as he swipes his tongue against your own and you can’t ignore how he tastes like cinnamon and salt. The kiss says nothing, but everything you couldn’t all at once. The kiss dissolves, along with some of the tension in the air, but he doesn’t pull away, instead resting his nose against your cheek bone.

“I’ve already planned a future with you.” you say after a beat, blindly reaching up to wipe his cheeks, the moisture there surprising you. A finger brushes too close to his eye and he flinches with a broken laugh.  “And nothings going to change that.”

Mattsun just nods. He audibly swallows before letting out an airy laugh, cracked slightly from his tears. “Fuck, this is why I asked you to turn around. I didn’t want you to know.”

“Hey, now, don’t cry. I’m here.” he tightens his grip around you, crushing you into his chest. Whether the shake of his limbs is from effort or emotion, you can’t tell.

“I was worried.” he admits, “Fuck, I was so, so worried you’d, you’d-”

His lips find yourself this time. It’s deeper, searching for an intimacy neither of you can vocalize. “I’m right here.” you whisper into him. “I know I can’t take it all away from you Issei, but I hope I can at least make it a little better.”

“You always do.” he presses a kiss against your brow. “You always do.”

[sepublic]

Why Vakama shouldn’t be the Leader

(LONG discussion below that goes into a meta about character motifs, parallels and contrasts between heroes and villains, coming-of-age and heroic tropes, as well as subversions and even a bit of gender discussion thrown into the mix.)

In this discussion of how Nokama should’ve been the leader of the Toa Metru, with Vakama only expected to take control because of corporate mandate (despite his insecurity and lack of in-universe justification), and it makes me think...

In Legends of Metru Nui, Vakama reaches his moment of self-actualization, when he gains the ability to turn invisible; To be less noticed, which seems antithetical to a brash element such as fire that demands attention, and his role as someone who’s at the front lines, leading the charge.

Given the recent meta about how Vakama fits the role of the rogue compared to other Ta-Toa, and it makes me think... Perhaps for a rewrite, I should just go ahead and make Nokama the leader? And Vakama’s arc is not about forcing himself to be a leader, even though he’s clearly uncomfortable and not suited for the role, and the investment in him is not worth it when Nokama already exists;

Rather, Vakama’s role is to realize his value and contribution as someone who works behind the scenes. As someone who isn’t as noticeable both as a person but as a Toa, being a hidden rogue... But he still has tangible value, his work is nevertheless meaningful. Sure he’s not as glamorous as others, and pales compared to the spectacle of other Fire Toa...

But Vakama doesn’t need to be brash and take glory and attention to be effective. He’s much more comfortable working stealthily and unnoticed, and his arc is about realizing that this type of ‘backseat’ action is just as valid, and shouldn’t be dismissed as useless, lesser, or replaceable. One might even draw parallels and contrasts with Makuta, who feels like he isn’t given enough attention despite the importance of his role- Even if it is less glamorous than Mata Nui or the Toa.

And, maybe Vakama does want a bit more glory! But in the end, he realizes his way of doing things, of sneaking around, is valid- He’s not being cowardly, not if he’s embracing these methods with full intent. Vakama is purposeful about how he hides, clever, and not fearful... And by realizing this, Vakama can self-actualize and become a truly effective rogue, instead of thinking of himself as a coward who can’t fight face to face.

You could even get into a meta about how this kind of deconstructs masculinity... Fire Toa are basically peak masculinity, hence their focus as the leaders in Bionicle. So it’d just contribute to Vakama’s insecurity (even if such sexism doesn’t exist in-universe), to resonate with audiences... He tries to be something he’s not in being a bold, upfront leader, but that isn’t who he is.

Vakama is someone clever, stealthy- Careful and hard to notice. And that’s something he can weaponize and make the most of, to embrace and self-actualize, rather than be ashamed of it. This could come into play in Vakama’s conflict with Makuta, who is occasionally framed as a coward who fights in the shadows- Vakama understands Makuta’s methodology himself and thus knows how to counter it.

He doesn’t fall for Makuta’s demands to reveal himself, Vakama doesn’t need nor desire attention anymore. And this could put him at odds with the Dark Hunters, whose modus operandi is similarly more ‘dishonorable’, especially with Nidhiki... Who has a very similarly mask power and was a failed Toa, the kind of person Vakama wanted to avoid becoming.

Given a previous post suggesting how Nidhiki should’ve been a more personal foe for Vakama, I think emphasizing their similarities as people who hide and strike from the shadows is interesting. It makes Vakama feel unworthy of Lhikan if he’s like Nidhiki, but really Lhikan actually sees the best of Nidhiki in him... Conversely, Matau’s showboating and open bravery as actually more like Lhikan, believe it or not!

Nidhiki also struggled with how he could never act as an honorable Toa, being an ambushed... Which fits Air as an ‘invisible’ element, so there’s lots of fun parallels, contrasts, and reverses of situation between the Toa of Fire and Air in these subsequent generations. Air is a good way to feed Fire too, so the symbiosis of one who is upfront and the other who works from the shadows, the support, is also there.

Nidhiki’s corruption was partially motivated by a desire for glory, too... And since I am considering the idea that he didn’t quite want to be a Toa and was uncomfortable with it, that could further connect him to Vakama as a personal foe. Vakama does fit the anti-hero term in its original sense as a hero who isn’t very masculine, kind of a coward, etc., while Nidhiki was an anti-hero in the modern term in his more dubious morals, before he became an outright villain.

Plus, there’s also Nuhrii’s one-sides rivalry with Vakama, being jealous... And really, Vakama realizes he doesn’t want glory or attention, he’s fine with being a quiet, humble little person doing his duty, work that isn’t obvious but still meaningful. The meek shall inherit the earth, that type of thing. Yeah he’s recognized as one of the greatest Mask Makers in existence, but Vakama is uncomfortable with this type of attention and thus expectations, it gives him major impostor syndrome...

So I think it does make make sense for his character to self-actualize by being allowed to operate as he does best, to justify how his way of doing things from the shadows is also valid. Vakama doesn’t need to be front and center, which helps show his nobility as a hero, and it helps him reconcile the expectations of Ta-Toa by providing his own take on Fire as a sneaking element. Something that starts off small, like a cigarette not fully put out- But by the time you smell smoke, the fire is already there and has overwhelmed you.

It’s Fire, but subtle- Gradually increasing in temperature until you’re consumed but never notice until it’s too late, like a frog in water that is slowly beginning to boil. Slow and meaningful, almost insidious like the way Makuta used Kojol’s viruses to strike Mata Nui into a slumber... So easy to underestimate, only to pay for it. An underdog type of power, and one easy to feel resentment because its effectiveness isn’t recognized, hence Makuta or Nidhiki’s downfall...

And in the end, Vakama DOES deserve recognition by his comrades! They do learn to value his way of being a hero, and not mock him as a disgrace to the Toa name. But in the end, Vakama just isn’t asking for much, he’s content and always has been, as we see with how he longs nostalgically for the simpler days as a Mask Maker... So his symbolic return to society as a Turaga is an achievement of this.

I think it’d be a lot more meaningful for not just Vakama, but a lot of characters, as well as subverted motifs and themes played straight, for Vakama NOT to be a leader... While his background role and way of doing things is still valued and given due credit, too! And it further matches how he defeats Makuta in a way few others have, not by open confrontation, but by being a trickster- Vakama tricks Makuta into hitting himself, he uses clever thinking with the Vahi to force Makuta into a promise.

The trickster motifs of Vakama better fit his character as an underdog (also like Makuta, who could not match the power of the Toa and especially not Mata Nui), and how he can overcome Makuta and humiliate him despite being weaker than the destined Toa Nuva or Takanuva. The trickster, the person who relies more on clever thinking and deception, is seen as that of a schemer like Makuta, not heroic... But again, this adds to Vakama’s subversion as a hero after seeing the more brash and straightforward Tahu, and how as someone who gets how Makuta operates, Vakama can actually ‘speak his language’ and thus beat him in a way nobody else has.

Because Vakama thinks like Makuta, and thus how to counter and keep up with him. Clever thought has always been Makuta’s greatest strength as a villain, so a protagonist who weaponizes clever thinking is the one best suited to actually meet him on his own playing field; While other Toa are playing checkers, Makuta is playing chess... But now Vakama can play chess, too! And he can interact with Makuta’s schemes as a schemer himself, and thus actually notice and outplay him... Outclass Makuta in what was always his greatest asset, the true way to overpower and defeat him; The mind.

That’s why Tahu and Jaller got outplayed by Makuta, played right into his hands... But Vakama never did. Because he fought fire with fire, but in a way no other Ta-Toa has... Vakama did so by employing Makuta’s same tactics against him, using strategy and gambits instead of straight-forward battle and flashy powers. Vakama relied on his mind more than his strength, and that’s why he was able to foil Makuta.

And if you want to incorporate gender discussion into this, since it clearly was a factor in the meta (Vakama has to be leader because he is Fire Red Man, not Nokama who is Blue Water Girl!), and how Vakama’s style as a fighter is arguably more ‘feminine’ (his insecurity and meekness, his ranged weaponry and hiding)... How this all relates to the ‘queer-coded villain’ who doesn’t openly fight like a man does, which fits into characters like Nidhiki or Makuta being framed as more cowardly...

And again, I just think it’s better for Vakama, and from a meta perspective, young boys growing up, to not have to change that part of himself. To realize there is nothing wrong about his ‘femininity’ (this gender bias is of course meta and symbolic because sexism isn’t canon in-universe), he doesn’t need to change it to be more masculine, but it still has worth as femininity in its own way! Vakama’s femininity can be celebrated not for becoming more masculine, but for being what it always is!

And this could open the idea of how it’s okay to be feminine OR masculine, either one works... Some girls want to be masculine- Some because that IS who they are, others because they feel ashamed of femininity... Neither one is ‘correct’, it’s about finding what fits you, and that of course applies to boys who look up to Vakama... Because Vakama’s insecurities were clearly meant to be something they could relate to.

So I think it’s better to have Vakama embrace his more ‘feminine’ role and see the value in it... While of course, this message is still nuanced because even if Nokama becomes more of a leader, she can be feminine too. Girls should find empowerment in being what they believe fits themselves, it isn’t ‘Masculine is better’ or ‘Femininity IS good which is why you should stick to it’, it really is a matter of personal preference. Of identity, because one size does not fit all, hence Takua’s ill-fitting Mask, and whatnot.

And YES, I do think this discussion of gender is important. The Bionicle films, and a lot of narrative decisions behind them, are 100% rooted in the coming-of-age story, and a central part of coming of age is one’s relationship with gender... Growing into that as a man or woman. But in this day and age, I think it’s more progressive and better to deconstruct that, while still achieving a growth- In the sense that you commit to that with full intent, and not uncertainty.

TL;DR Vakama is best when he’s GNC.

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

golden power; never wielded

my first work for @ninjago-angst-week! prompt - abandoned (16/08) Lloyd's never known what it's like to share his heart with another, linking two lives together as if one had found the melody to their chorus, now a song in perfect harmony. If he’d always felt like he was invisible; wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with his inability to touch others’ hearts, then, well, that was no one’s business but his own. Of course, that was before he quite literally fell for someone - the first person, actually - who seemed to care. Of course she was too good to be true. Or, the S8 angst I've been wanting to write about 'game of masks' and the aftermath. trigger warnings - suicidal thoughts, brief mention of implied self-harm, not really a warning but it talks a lot about loneliness. "How did you know?"

"It's an Oni Temple. It's safe to assume that only an Oni could take it."

"No. How could you know that I was part Oni?"

How could you know that I was part Oni?

The question repeated itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

Sometimes, he wondered what would've gone down at the temple if he hadn't been so observant.

Well, he thought bitterly, probably not the temple itself.

The walls collapsing, he'd caught a glimpse of his terrified face as the room filled with swirling inky blackness, freezing him to the bone.

But the real pain came from her words.

Ah. Your emotions. You can't get rid of them, can you?

No, he'd wanted to yell, staring listlessly at the shaking grey semblance of sky.

He'd always felt like he wielded the element of light; invisible, trapped behind a barrier that no one cared enough to break. Isolated; locked away from the world. Longing for - yearning for - a single soul to want to know his heart. Pain that almost felt tangible, bleeding into every motion, every day.

Everyone else seemed to find it so easy - so effortless - simple as breathing, taken for granted like it was ingrained into their bones. Everyone else seemed to have given away a little piece of their heart - to their parents, friends, or lovers.

The fact that his was, and had always been, entirely whole?

He was either cursed, the venom from the Great Devourer passed down to him, or there was something fundamentally unlikable coursing through his veins.

By this point, he assumed it was the latter.

Maybe, if anyone had ever cared - wanted to know him - he'd never have felt like it was pressing down on his chest like a casket; a useless block of ice that no one wanted, not even the unfortunate owner it'd been given.

If no one would know his heart, he'd thought, grabbing a forgotten map, he'd strike fear into theirs - until they knew what it was like to sob into invisible barriers, to gaze upon the world with a weary eyes and a heart heavy with the knowledge that if they vanished, no one would even notice.

He'd realized far too late that he had unleashed an evil that couldn't be controlled - or one that could only be controlled by his- by someone else that had sunk beneath the darkness until no light remained-

He'd escaped from the crumbling casket, energy and eyes blazing - only to find that Har- she'd already escaped with the mask.

The Oni Mask of Hatred.

As they had steered the boat through the river, her sweet smile hiding lie upon lie, he'd thought it was somewhat ironic - two lovers, seeking a literal manifestation of hatred.

He'd laughed bitterly; no mirth in the sound.

After his first crush had - well, literally tried to crush him, he didn't think that this day could get much worse.

Until she dropped him into a contraption that was the stuff of nightmares - leaving the others with a seemingly impossible choice.

He'd wanted to yell, scream, that they should save his mother - he'd hurt enough people over the course of his short life, as evidenced by the grief-stricken orphan yelling a foreign language right in front of him.

I'm the expendable one! Maybe she was right - it was my fault the Serpentine were able to release the Great Devourer. And it took thousands of lives - but never the life of the one who was to blame.

He'd grabbed the vengestone bars, the faint sense of numbness they brought a welcoming relief from the storm of emotions that- he honestly had no clue what to do with.

i could drown, he had thought briefly, fleetingly. what if i drowned and i never hurt anyone again-

you have  a responsibility, even though you've pretty much failed to uphold it so far

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

Shoving the thought to the back of his mind, he'd gripped the bars tighter, ignoring the sting of the metal against skin.

If anything, he'd welcomed the sting.

Any pain was better than the agonizing reminder that his heart was, and had always been, entirely whole.

He didn't even realize he was trembling until he heard his father's voice echoing from the vortex.

His father hadn't asked to be bitten by an evil snake, the venom coursing through his veins for years upon years. He hadn't asked to be dumped at a boarding school for bad kids, spending what he had left of his childhood hiding in empty classrooms or yelling empty threats as his classmates snickered.

Against all odds, they'd been reunited. Evil snakes, Fangblades, even Jade Blades - none of it had stood between them.

Just when he thought they might have a future - he might have a- a family - the Cursed Realm decided to curse them all.

His father with imprisonment, him with a life devoid of a father he'd loved, at the end.

Now H- she wanted to resurrect him?

His father had been so much more than the Oni blood in his veins. So was he.

But if he was completely Oni-

Lloyd didn't like their odds. He kind of hated them.

"Clotho venge! Clotho decer! Clotho haeed!"

---

A few chaotic hours later... they'd won? They'd won.

The Sons of Garmadon (he'd always thought the name was kind of ironic - he, the only son of Garmadon, wasn't in their crazy biker gang) had been imprisoned by courageous, if a bit overzealous, taser-wielding policeman.

Ninjago was celebrating - everyone was; he should be, too.

Should he really revel in their victory, though? It was his fault that she'd been able to snatch the last mask, all the safeguards the Oni had put in place practically worthless because of his stupid feelings-

H- Harumi had been thrown in one of the police vans.

"You're right - this isn't me," she'd started, her meekness almost convincing him that she really was the girl he'd fallen for - the girl who'd been forced into a mask she never wanted to wear, but someone who still cared about the world... and- and about him.

"Stop."

He'd cut her off, the venom in his tone surprising both of them.

"Save it for someone who cares," he'd forced out, the hurt welling up his chest almost as painful as their unceremonious descent into the jungle, (the descent she'd orchestrated, he'd thought fleetingly, squeezing his eyes together) unable to believe that this- this liar was the same sweet girl he'd fallen for.

With that, he slammed the door of the van, locking her in - wishing that locking his memories away could be easy.

She'd never cared about him; simply needing to use him as if he was nothing more than the power he wielded.

He watched one of the policemen drive her away, the tired-but-enthusiastic cheers of his teammates nothing more than background noise; static.

Vaguely, he realized that his heart wasn't quite whole - he'd given a piece of it to someone whom he had thought would link theirs together in harmony, the melody to his chorus; what he'd been searching for ever since he'd woken up screaming in a 'boarding school' that seemed more like a prison.

She'd taken more than what he'd given - draining the light from his entire being as if she was the Overlord, stealing his golden power without a shred of remorse.

That failure was practically painless, compared to her-

An almost unfamiliar emotion slowly stated to replace the ache in his chest that he'd grown used to for all those years; it'd become comforting, even. Watching the world go by with a heart that seemed more like a curse, he briefly, fleetingly, wondered if he'd be better off without one.

If there was ever a problem that presented itself to Nya while she worked on the Bounty, she used to joke that it'd be easier to just dump their entire hard dive into the sea.

Destruction seemed to be easier than fixing, he conceded - the van now just a glimmer of bright light; one of the many that made up their vibrant city.

"How did you know?" he heard, yet again wondering how he felt so disconnected from his own role in the memory.

How had she known? 

The whisper of a voice long gone bled into his consciousness, his hands shaking at his sides even as the city celebrated.

Why had he even asked that?

Plastering a smile on his face as he walked over to his teammates, the question repeating itself in his mind, echoing into the blizzard.

FSM - she didn't need to be leader of a biker gang to know that.

Who could ever give their heart - the epitome of human connection; golden power all on its own, albeit of a different kind - to an Oni?

Maybe he wasn't the one trapped behind an invisible wall, built on tears and loneliness and yearning and heartache and a lone question - why? Why could no one seem to look past the cage he felt himself trapped in, observing the world rather than playing a part in it.

He hadn't been a- abandoned by everyone, he realized, a weary sense of clarity and shadowed eyes not sure to accept it or push it into the back of his mind like the hours he'd spent there, as if he'd ever want to have hurt his teammates like he did, the twisted ghost-

He trailed behind his teammates as they sang - horribly off key, his mind pointed out, forcing a small smile onto his face - lost in the figurative blizzard, despite the fact that the sun's rays had only vanished a few hours ago.

If no one would know his heart?

FSM - could he really blame them?

(if you read this far, thank you so much, you’ve made my day:D)

[starlightshadowsworld]

The Apology Scene redone (V8 C11) Part 1

(Finally reworking this WIP)

(*listens to Oz apologise and waits for RWBY+JNR to apologise back.... Waits*... You know what, fine I'll do if myself! Here's the apology...Orrrr everyone bonds, cries and Ozpin has another story to tell. 

Because I wanted this scene to be so much more than it was and hey its Oz and if the OPPS sever has taught me anything... There can always be more angst with Oz. I did try to make this as in character as I could.)

Ruby rose her head from Yang’s shoulder as the group walked in. Weiss and Blake sat beside the sisters, silently comforting the two making them smile a little. Ruby faced Oscar who was hanging back beside Jaune and Emerald, steadying herself. “Hey Oscar, is it okay if we speak to him?” Oscar blinked in surprise, pausing for a few seconds with concern flashing on his face before nodding slowly. Ruby frowned, she was tempted to ask what Ozpin has said but knew it was best not to ask. 

Something she wished hadn’t taken her so long to learn.

Oscar met Ruby’s gaze, he tried for a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. How could he, not when Oscar could feel him. The fear that pulsed within him like a second heart, the only upside was it was no longer shut behind a door leaving him empty. ‘Oz...you don’t have to do this. I can just tell them what you want to say.” Reaching out for the others presence and being unable to stop the wave of relief when Ozpin reached back. ‘I appreciate the thought Oscar, but I cannot hide forever. This is something we must face together, that’s what you taught me.’ Oscar grumbled about annoying old wizards using his words against him and felt the others amusement run through him. 

Even if both were tense. 

“Hey guys...please don’t start fighting. Not just because I’m healing just...talk, okay.” Oscar did feel bad when he saw everyone’s mood dip, but not enough that make him apologise. They had deeply hurt Ozpin, done what thousands of years under Salem’s abuse had failed to do. He had grown incredibly fond of Ozpin’s company, and feeling him shut off from the world had left him pained. That did not erase the guilt Oscar himself had felt for giving them the tools to do it, only serving as further determination to help him heal. 

Yang nodded seriously “"no ones going to fight” she agreed. Oscar nodded, taking a deep breathe and gave the group one more look, a silent beg to please don’t mess this up before getting up. He walked to the chair Jaune had bought in, taking a seat as his eyes shone gold.

There was a silence, as they all looked for the right words to say before Ruby simply addressed him, “Hi, Professor Ozpin” she said. Just saying his name was enough to bring everyone back to the present, she hadn’t intended to call him professor. It wasn’t something she had done since he left...but it felt right. 

Ozpin met her gaze, if he was surprised to hear that title he didn’t say it. A smile, ever so small it was almost shy bloomed on his face “Hello, Miss Rose.” He turned his head, meeting team RWBY’s gaze in turn. “Miss Schnee, Miss Belladonna, Miss Xiao Long.” Weiss smiled softly, her hands clasped together “professor Ozpin” she echoed Ruby’s words finding that they came to her easily. Blake did the same, one of her ears twitched as she greeted him. Yang found that she couldn’t meet his gaze, nor speak but nodded in acknowledgement.

“Mr Arc, Miss Valkyrie, Mr Ren.” Greeted Ozpin, turning his gaze from Yang to JNR who were sat nearby. Jaune, much like Yang struggled to meet Ozpin’s gaze but managed a quiet “hey, Professor Ozpin”, Nora smiled and waved while Ren gave a distracted wave.

He’d seen purple petals floating around Emerald, her guilt for her previous actions, around Ozpin was a storm. That combined with the swirl of amber, fear around him gave Ren a sinking feeling. 

None of the others could see the petals of course, and Ozpin’s voice gave nothing away. But while he looked up to address them he was hunched over with his ever-present cane in his hands and not on his belt. And unlike the feather light touch he’d previously wielded it with, now it was held it in a vice grip. It was almost as if...

'Does he... Think we're going to attack?' Wondered Ruby, guilt blooming in her heart. She wanted to believe otherwise, but there last meeting had ended so terribly that she shouldn’t have been surprised. Ozpin, oblivious to the groups collective guilt greeted Emerald who nodded politely and Penny who shyly waved and was overjoyed when Ozpin smiled softly and waved back at her. 

Those two were completely at ease, Yang envied them a little. 

"I was recently reminded of an old fairy tale” said Ozpin, lowering his head as he did so. And even just hearing that familiar phrase, made everyone feel a certain warmth. That despite it all, this was still Ozpin “A young girl flees the consequences of a choice to a magical place... But having never learned from her initial failure, she only succeeds in spreading it..." No one needed to ask who that girl was. "I failed you all.” The words echoed throughout the manor, resigned and raw. “I hid, I lied.  I left you to deal with everything you weren’t ready for when you were scared and confused... And so much more."

There had always been a weight to Ozpin’s words, they group realised that from the moment they’d met him. Everything was said with an underlying meaning or message. But here...they knew at once that these words weren’t meant for just them. Yang thought of a photograph, of anger and feathers flying into the breeze. 

“It’s not your fault” began Ruby, pausing at his disbelieving gaze and instead followed with “we failed you too. We kept telling you to trust us, kept pushing you around and than...I’m sorry.”  The wizard before her shook his head, “you have nothing to be sorry about Miss Rose, you were all confused and afraid. You were left to navigate this war, a war I drew you into...you wanted answers I would not give, you did the right thing.” Said Ozpin, Ruby shook her head ready to continue... but someone beat her to the punch. 

“We did the right thing....” Said Yang, her voice barely above a whisper but the rage was almost tangible. Although she did try to keep herself calm, her eyes remaining there bright lavender. “I won’t say you didn’t lie to us...but exposing someone's trauma and kicking an already downed man after saying you wouldn’t...threating you and Uncle Qrow for the truth...none of that is right.”

That was not what Ozpin had been expecting. Especially not from her, she who he had expected anger, red eyes that reminded him tearfully of others and words to cut his heart the way so many had. It took him completely by surprise, Yang ignored the sinking feeling as she caught on. 

“You were angry, confused what other choice did you have? I would not have divulged such information so easily and how were you to know that’s what Jinn would show you?” Said Ozpin, he truly did not understand this. “That doesn’t make how we treated you afterwards any better, I mean seriously, what’s the difference between us and her.” 

That made Ozpin stop, wide eyed that they would even compare themselves to Salem. His demeanour hardened “You acted out of fear, not out of outright malice or hatred. Nothing was said that wasn’t correct, and if I know Qrow he’s already forgiven you all.” There was a finality in his tone, that that was the end of all this. He turned to Ruby “we have far more important matters to discuss.”

Yang was about to say otherwise but stopped, this was what caused there fight in the first place. They would drop it for now, but this conversation was far from over.  Ruby shifted uncomfortably, she wasn’t sure she wished to know.

“Right...Professor Ozpin have you ever seen a grimm like the hound before?”

[cuntess-carmilla]

Huge news!!!! I got a part time job at a local makeup store chain, 30 hours a week. It all happened REALLY fast and I actually had huge panic attacks (yes, plural) on Wednesday night and Thursday because doing paperwork makes my autistic brain short circuit in distress and I had to send a million of those starting that Wednesday up until Thursday.

I started working on Friday. I'm just annoyed because originally they told me I'd start working on March by which time I was (and tbh still am) kinda sure I was going to have my rollator already (they were very accommodating of my accessibility needs thank God), but they suddenly told me "Actually, can you start TOMORROW?" the day after we first talked and I was like... "Can it be the day after that? 😬"

Thank fucking GOD I didn't go for full time. I've only managed to resist each of my shifts by coming home to use this bubble massage machine for feet with some salts that have an anesthetic effect because I SWEAR TO GOD after like 1 hour of being on my feet or even sitting on a chair that's not the appropriate angle for me my feet are already murdering me and by the end of the day I promise, no exaggeration, I can feel them buzzing and burning in pain, with the inner teeny tiny bones that form the foot all mangled and stuck.

Today on each of my breaks I simply had to take my shoes off in the back and sit there massaging my feet, the rest of the day doing my best to be on my ass as much as humanly possible and with my feet up on another chair at that too. Even then my feet are STILL absolutely destroyed, despite how my parents offered to come pick me up by car this time after my shift ended. It's not even a lot of clients on weekends during February! That's when everyone in Chile takes their vacations and thus leaves Santiago.

Otherwise, the job itself is nice. My coworkers are all really nice, especially the guy and the girl that work the weekends, it's makeup so I know my way around very well, the pay is pretty nice for the job, I get a discount on whatever they sell, I can do whatever makeup I want because it's actually encouraged for us to show off our makeup abilities if we have them, and the uniform is just simple and relatively modest black clothes. They even allow some jewelry as long as it's nothing flashy, so, no spiked collars or my huge silver bat necklace, but I can wear my comfort earrings and gothy but formal looking necklaces.

The only other problem I have is much smaller (compared to the pain at least), and it's that there's something in the environment of our store that gives me an allergic reaction. Like, runny nose and watering itchy eyes. We have no idea what it is.

I swear if I just had my rollator this'd be a breeze.

Welp. Tremendous, unbearable pain and an injury (my knee is fucked, my fucked knee is pinching a nerve that's numbing that leg's big toe and sending some tiny electric shocks now to the pinky toe and the foot sole) weren't how I wanted to confirm that Wow, I Really Am A Cripple, but I suppose now I can say with tangibly tested confidence that yeah, I actually Can't do much more and I do absolutely need a mobility aid. Because, boy... If you guys saw me once I come home not just from work but from using public transport... It's sad, really.