#but also. energy levels fucked. not made for social situations. they need to lock me in a closet to make word documents

[dullahandyke]

Tfw two issues in your brain click together and you're like omg I understand now. These are still issues tho

[aiyexayen]

The ChengXian/WangXian parallel gifsets about the sad boat rides with Wen Ning made me think, once again, about how Wei Ying was worried about being the Jiang Cheng in his relationship with Lan Zhan.

Wei Ying just had so few models of relationship, and only two real models of a serious relationship involving himself--Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli. He saw himself as a caretaker in each of them.

Even Jiang Yanli, ultimately, though there was certainly more give and take there. He only accepted a very specific kind of caretaking from her, though, and we see how fraught that was in the way Yu-furen shamed Jiang Yanli for it.

But Jiang Cheng was the most complicated. He and Wei Ying were the Yunmeng Shuangjie. Twin Heroes. Both of them strong male cultivators. Their relationship was such a carefully orchestrated imbalance. Wei Ying had to take care of Jiang Cheng even to the point of making sure Jiang Cheng didn’t feel taken care of. He was stronger, but he had to make sure Jiang Cheng didn’t feel weaker.

And at the same time, he had to be able to have his best friend and brother and navigate the lines of teasing and boasting that came with those dynamics and also with his natural brash and outgoing and free-spirited personality. It’s not something that weighed particularly heavy on him until later on, of course; it’s just How Things Were.

But Lan Zhan being Wei Ying's true equal was a heady taste of something new, something he was desperate for.

Someone he didn’t have to take care of in all those tricky, sticky ways. Someone who could understand him from the outside. That equality between them--of swords and strength and wit--formed so much of their early relationship. The ways Wei Ying and Lan Zhan excelled differently weren’t seen as anything but surface-level differences, cultivation styles. They could choose to take care of each other on their own (like in the Xuanwu cave) but there were no expectations except that which they set for themselves.

The best cohesive example I can think of is the situation at Dafan Mountain. Jiang Cheng has taken off after Wei Ying, to come and find his troublemaking brother and bring him home, ostensibly being the one to wrangle and care for his brother and best friend and someday-second. But as soon as he finds them, Wei Ying is clearly the one in charge. Jiang Cheng gets locked into a shield barrier, given a verbal half-teasing pat on the head, and left behind. Wei Ying goes off with Lan Zhan to find the source of the problems and their new level of partnership is beautifully put on display through their fight (other things happen in that fight, too, but that’s another post).

Jiang Cheng was never allowed to truly take care of Wei Ying. His parents never let him. Wei Ying never let him. He tried, all the time, most of all when he gave himself up to the Wen soldiers. But even that was immediately undone, turned back around on him.

Wei Ying never figured out how to attain any semblance of true equilibrium in his relationship with Jiang Cheng, even after everything at Lotus Pier, especially after everything at Lotus Pier, either before or after the core transfer. Maybe if he had, things would have been different. Maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have sacrificed his core to begin with.

It’s debatable how much Wei Ying expected to keep living after his core was gone. It’s even more debatable how much he really thought about anything past his own desperation in the moment, about all the promises broken with that single act, about how that would affect his relationship with anyone else. That doesn’t seem like a very Wei Ying thing to sit and think about.

Regardless, once the core was gone, he and Lan Zhan weren't equals. It messed up his relationship with Jiang Cheng, too, of course. The resentful energy was its own kind of strength but it couldn’t make up the difference in any way that counted. It just complicated everything by a thousand times and added in all kinds of new problems.

Even though Jiang Cheng had his core and Wei Ying had nothing but the tortured screams of the lost and vengeful echoing in his head, Wei Ying was still the caretaker there.

Don’t let Jiang Cheng find out the secret. Don’t let Lan Zhan become embroiled in it or expose the secret. Make sure Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli and Lotus Pier are okay. Lift Jiang Cheng up as a leader. Win the war. Apparently still be alive welp didn’t see that coming. Protect them all. Even if it means leaving.

But as much as he scrambled for strengths and leaned on his demonic cultivation he was still weak. Able to wipe out entire outposts of Wen agents yet repeatedly brought to a point where Lan Zhan could kill him easily and we know that the only way he could hope to match him would be to use this dangerous thing that's eating his soul, so shit could really get out of hand. Which wasn't really winning in the end. Demonic cultivation for him in general wasn’t strength so much as carefully-applied weakness.

Not to mention his reputation. They got so far off-balance where reputation and social standing was concerned.

Wei Ying’s merits had been contentious throughout his life--on the one hand, they're all he had to elevate himself beyond the need for the Jiangs' charity, or anyone's charity, as his status as family was so fraught and inconsistent. Being the best made all of that a moot point as much as it could be. And it also made him able to take care of said family, fulfilling all manner of "repay debt" vibes and "I'm obsessed with justice and protection" vibes.

On the other hand, they were definitely part of what made things so difficult with Jiang Cheng. Wei Ying’s reputation outclassing Jiang Cheng’s as a prodigy, a swordsman, a hero, even as he balanced it out by getting a simultaneous reputation for goofing off and being irresponsible. He did his best to make them complementary even though they were never really allowed to be.

But Jiang Cheng said it himself when he visited Wei Ying at the Burial Mounds--as soon as he started walking a different path, all of his merits and his skills and his reputation were turned upside down and used to make him a more effective villain.

So suddenly he didn’t even have any good social standing. He was mistrusted and then hated and reviled. On a number of levels, he could handle that, because it was more important to him that everyone who wasn’t him was okay. But it put him at complete odds with the great Hanguang-Jun, which was definitely something he made a point of noting more than once so we know it really, really mattered to him.

And that knowledge crept further and further in, between the war ending, things going back to some semblance of normal when he...couldn’t, and eventually him ending up in the Burial Mounds.

It was inevitable. He was the weaker one between himself and Lan Zhan, in every possible way. He knew of only one way that could go down.

It's a fear that got tangled up along with the rest of his paranoias, insecurities, traumas, resolutions, and twisted certainties pre-timeskip. On top of that, he lost a central piece of his identity and had no idea how to replace it.

If he isn't himself, who else can he be? Who else might he turn into? Someone who needs to be taken care of? Someone who might have his agency circumvented by a stronger person who thinks he knows better?

He sure did that to Jiang Cheng, and he never really had to own up to that piece of it. He never really regretted it either but he also sure didn't want to be on the other end of it.

Aside from that, Wei Ying just didn't know how to not be the strongest person. Being equal is the closest he’d ever come. He's never been allowed to be weak and taken care of unless he's play-acting and isn't that fucking heartbreaking? Fuck.

So who is he without that?

He still fought with the strengths he had and pretended to have the rest of them. And in one last great act of being the protector and caretaker, ran off to the Burial Mounds.

We do get to see Wei Ying and Lan Zhan working in tandem to bring back Wen Ning, and even though Wei Ying stumbles at the end (for the first time ever, I think, into Lan Zhan’s arms?), he does it successfully. They’re still able to work together, in spite of everything that’s happened, especially when Wei Ying is leaning into his actual talents. Even if Wei Ying’s weakness is still looming over his shoulder, as we see later.

Being with the Wens, living a simple life, leaning into his strengths, being part of a community and family, taking time to work on his scholarly/inventor hobbies, all this served to calm a lot of those fears and also conveniently take Wei Ying out of the scenarios and away from the relationships that caused them. It offered him tentative new pieces of identity to grab.

But then, of course, he lost that, too.

Post-timeskip, Wei Ying is thrust right back into a world where he has to finally face those issues. Whether you take it as he still has no core, or he has Mo Xuanyu’s really weak core, he’s not doing so great where that’s concerned.

He still has strengths. We’re not actually shown any indications that this man is weak at any point, not truly. He has a better grasp on the situation at Mo Manor than all of those precious Lan babies put together.

But we are shown that he uses a bunch of hands-on crafty tricks, talismans and spells and such. And, interestingly, in counterpoint we’re shown Lan Zhan descending from the heavens with his qin. Wei Ying doesn’t use a dizi here yet (let alone sword), and Lan Zhan doesn’t use Bichen. I do think that’s lovely.

However, Lan Zhan is still incredibly strong, in more ways than just physically: his reputation is strong, his presence is strong, his confidence is high, his mastery of the qin is unparalleled, he’s had sixteen more years to grow up and develop his golden core.

From the framing, and Wei Ying’s reactions, and the Lan juniors’ reactions, it’s pretty clear that’s the impression Wei Ying has. There’s an imbalance between them (along with alllll the other reasons he might have to want to stay away from/keep Lan Zhan out of things). He doesn’t see them as complementary, just as not-the-same.

He meets Jiang Cheng next and, hey, Jiang Cheng is actually really strong now, too (also he always was but meh). Again, Wei Ying uses his tricks to outwit and outmaneuver the situation at hand. Again, he’s struck by the impressive image of someone entering the scene like a badass.

And what a deliciously awful carousel of conflicting feelings. Pride? Despair? Longing? Love? Annoyance? Delight? Relief? Pain? Fear?

But as far as strength goes, clearly Jiang Cheng has it in buckets, now. Which means even if they still had a relationship, Jiang Cheng surely wouldn't even be the Jiang Cheng in it anymore. What a horrible realisation.

It can’t be helped much by the fact that Wei Ying almost lets himself get run through and Lan Zhan enters the scene to fucking save him. Even if it’s from the kid we know he just bested.

And that’s the back and forth we see at first. Wei Ying proving his strength and his character but the framing and his reactions proving that he’s still caught in the idea that Lan Zhan is stronger and better than him.

Lan Zhan is beloved. Lan Zhan is strong. Lan Zhan would never accidentally murder people he loved more than life itself. (OKay I won’t get into that but tell me he didn’t think that at any point I dare you)

He accepts it and plays it off as not a big deal, but it clearly is. In his rare serious moments, we see that.

So post-timeskip, Wei Ying has to figure out who he is and then how he can be said person. A significant part of the character and relationship development post-timeskip is about that.

He once again finds himself exploring uncharted territory of building relationship dynamics he’s never experienced with Lan Zhan. It started because he realised they were equals. It can’t develop further until he acknowledges that they still are.

He figures out how to be weak with Lan Zhan first, that it's safe and allowed and okay. There’s nothing wrong with being taken care of. It doesn’t have to define him and it doesn’t have to be about agency or about all the twisty psychological junk that was all wrapped up in his familial relationships at all.

Then he figures out that he still has the capacity to take care of someone like Lan Zhan back, that he’s still able to be needed, and not just someone to follow around and protect.

Wei Ying has strengths, strengths that were always there and always part of him as well as new ways he's grown and changed. He’s an inventor, he’s a genius, he’s a prodigy, he has his talismans and his music and his people skills and his teaching ability and his empathy and his heart.

All this definitely comes to a head on the steps of Jinlintai, by which point it feels like one of the only remaining imbalances that Wei Ying feels so keenly is their status, which of course Lan Zhan snuffs out utterly romantically.

It’s even more poignant that that moment comes right after Wei Ying gets Suibian back. And he's not nearly as good with it--Lan Zhan has to protect him multiple times in that fight and then of course he gets stabbed. But the point is still made, that he was still able to fight, and even his failures with the sword just drive home that this isn't who he is now. And that's okay.

By the time they're at the Burial Mounds again, Wei Ying has accepted the way they work as a team and that they can be complementary. And they fight flawlessly.

I love that growth for him.

He absolutely ends up being the Jiang Cheng, in a number of ways. He runs after Lan Zhan when he’s drunk to keep him out of trouble. He ends up left behind to take care of defenseless people while Lan Zhan runs off and has an epic sword fight in an evil fog bank.

He has to be taken from Lotus Pier, unconscious, in a boat, and is held so preciously in Lan Zhan’s arms.

But. Turns out it’s not so bad when the person you’re being Jiang Cheng for isn’t Wei Ying.

I swear this is not throwing shade at Wei Ying.

But he figures out, slowly, how to actually have a relationship built on even ground, as equals, in spite of being unequal in all the ways he used to think mattered. And he only manages it with someone once he’s on the weaker side of it.

I just think that’s super interesting.

And I think it sets a precedent for Wei Ying to understand the flaws in his old dynamic with Jiang Cheng. Especially once there aren’t secrets between them.

Everything has to change, anyway. Everything has already changed, almost two decades ago, and it isn’t going back. It can’t ever go back. Everything they were to each other was bound up in Jiang Yanli’s presence, in promises long broken, in dreams long dead, in a future that has already proved to not be real. In the old Lotus Pier, a lot of it, since they never really moved on from that, either, even back then.

Jiang Cheng has grown up. He’s raised a kid. He’s raised and trained disciples. He’s been a sect leader for over a decade and a half. He’s been to other people what he never could be to Wei Ying.

He’s also proven that he still wants his brother to fix things, still expects him to be able to. Still wants to fight, still knows how to cry. Still acknowledges fragmented pieces of their lost dynamic. Probably more of the healthy ones than Wei Ying ever has, too.

Jiang Cheng still, even in the wake of learning about the golden core, even after everything he’s built and has become, acknowledges Wei Ying as a strong person. As someone as strong as he is, if not stronger in many ways. As having the capacity of an older brother.

But then, Jiang Cheng was always able to conceptualise a world where he and Wei Ying were equals, complementary if not evenly matched, just as much as Lan Zhan was.

It wasn’t a fantasy that Wei Ying indulged him in. It was a reality that Wei Ying himself didn’t know how to accept and kept at a distance, carefully juggling too many separate parts of a whole he couldn’t allow to come together until they all crashed down.

But he’s been on the other side of it now and maybe it’s enough. Maybe he can take what he’s learned in building/rebuilding his relationship with Lan Zhan and apply it to other people. Especially Jiang Cheng.

And maybe Jiang Cheng has been a sect leader and an uncle long enough to not let Wei Ying get away with shit.

[narrators-journal]

Oh raven won’t you sing me a happy song

So, if you haven’t noticed, this is an older fic. I’ve improved since this point, and I’m also taking time to edit my work, so there is a descrepency. I hope those who read this can find enjoyment in it anyway though! And I hope my editting saves it from being total garbage

Warning: here

previous part: here

cw: dubcon, weaker writing, Gogol being a sadist, I think that’s all!

After your first run in with the man, you learned his name was Gogol, Nikolai Gogol, and even though he was very fucked up personally, keeping you in a cage was something of a dead give away for that, he did at least have a nice side. Aside from being pervy and really wanting to touch you when he came to deliver food or take trays, he was respectful enough to not hurt you. He'd grab your hand, kiss you on the wrist or lips, really anything he could to give you small affections, but rarely anything severe. It was a mixture of charming and creepy.  You couldn't really figure out exactly what his intentions were.

For a while, you did try to avoid him, scrambling from side to side in the cage to try and avoid his touches, but after a few days you gave in. You'd let him pet your (h/l), (h/c) hair, or kiss the backs of your hand, being an obedient little bird in hopes of earning freedoms.

When he realized you were growing more obedient, his orders grew bit by bit. Allowing him to simply touch you turned into you now initiating contact, you assumed that was because of some level of touch starvation, small kisses turned into letting him leave hickeys on your neck. It was on the creepier side of things, but you were determined to get at least a little bit of freedom so you could try to escape, so, you indulged him, grabbing his hand, or playing with his hair for a moment when he came down to your basement, and slowly, you began to enjoy him coming around.

Being locked in a massive suspended bird cage in a windowless basement wasn't the best setting for a social life, so to avoid going insane from loneliness, you didn't shame yourself for the flutter of joy you'd get when the tall man would come visit. Luckily for you, he came around for more than simply feeding and watering you, he'd sometimes come down and just sit with you, talking about nothing in particular, showing you magic tricks, small things like that. You weren't quite attracted to him outside of looks, but you didn't exactly push yourself to find some similarities to relate to or anything, you just needed physical contact for your sanity, you didn't want to so easily be that girl who falls for a violent kidnapper. However, you also fought against the shame you felt for even finding him attractive at all. After all, if you were going to be stuck in a cage in a basement for however long you were gonna be there you couldn't afford to guilt yourself over such fickle things as physical attraction.

Allowing yourself that freedom from guilt helped you to cope without going absolutely bat shit. It wasn't the best situation, you still had plenty of days where you tore at the fabric that formed your cage's cushion, kicked at the bars and threw one hell of a tantrum, but at least you were doing the best you could be expected to. Right? It was on one of your bad days, one of the days where you yowled curses at Gogol and try to tear up your cage like a rabid dog that you heard it. Once you were tuckered out, reduced to a puddle of sobbing screams of despair clutching your blanket and biting at the cushion of your flooring you heard him, or more, his laughter. When you looked up, into the darkness of the basement where your dim lantern couldn't reach, you could just make out Gogol's silhouette, only sure it was him due to the dim glow of his mismatched eyes. At least, it looked like they glowed, it could've been the light reflecting just right to give that effect.           "Awww, little Golubka, why so upset?" he asked, a sickeningly cheerful lilt in his thickly accented voice "I thought we were past these fits. Although, I do admittedly find them to be very entertaining~" he sang, getting up from the bed across from you and meandering over to the cage, his grin evilly charming.

When he was right in front of you, he reached out and tried to touch you, not being able to quite make contact, and while you didn't want him to touch you, you also didn't want to piss him off when he seemed to have some sort of teleportation ability, so you moved closer and let him grab your hand.          "How about this, my little dove, I'll make you a deal. All you have to do is give me a blowjob." he said, giving your hand a firm squeeze when you tried to yank away. Your cheeks were crimson, your stomach churning with anxiety and embarrassment...and lust, but Gogol didn't let you go, "Come now, Golubka, a blowjob is not too hard to ask in exchange for a nice little walk outside, right?" he soothed, and after a moment you nodded. He gave you a charming smile and yanked you forward, making you squeak and close your eyes. When you opened them again you were outside of your bird cage, being held by your captor. He happily brought you over to the king-sized bed and plopped down on it, keeping you in his lap for a moment before beginning to nudge you back until you took the hint and got between his legs like he wanted. You didn't want to ponder how he got a boner seemingly so fast, so you simply focused on pulling his striped pants down to free his erection. You weren't super shocked to see that he was a healthy size for his height, not unreasonable, but not quite average either, you were surprised though at how quickly your lust grew. Though you were also thankful for that, it made the task easier on your mental health ever so slightly. The way he hummed when your fingers brushed his length made you think he wouldn't take too much to get off, which made you feel a bit better about the situation. It wouldn't last too long. So, you gave him a lick from base to tip than pumped him with your hand until the clown tangled his gloved hand in your (h/l), (h/c) hair and pulled you forward with a groan. So, you smartly decided to skip the foreplay, just slipping him past your lips and going as far down as you could before needing to pull back. You started off slow, needing to work up you courage before bobbing your head faster or anything, though you did try to be considerate and used your hand to stroke what you couldn't reach. Your actions earned a few moans from the white haired Russian, the noises sending little bolts of pleasure to your own nether regions while his hand gripping your hair tighter and pushing you down more when he got impatient with your pace. At least, not long after that he did orgasm, forcing you to choke on his member as he did, humming with satisfaction and grinning when a few tears slipped out of your (e/c) eyes. Finally, he let your hair go and let you sit up properly to cough and breath. While you caught your breath and gagged on the salty taste of his cum, Gogol got up and pulled his pants back up before heading upstairs and heading into what you assumed was the rest of the house. He left the door open, and was gone for a long moment, so you felt a spark of hope flutter to life in your chest. You were shaky, but you got up from the cold concrete floor and scrambled and stumbled for the door. Your heart beat like a jackhammer and your nerves felt like they were burning with energy as you tripped over yourself on the stairs and got to the door,  stumbling into some sort of pantry  that led to the kitchen. With the new scent of anything but stale basement air, you were flooded with adrenaline that made your muscles shudder, urging you to bolt like a scared rabbit, but you forced yourself to creep forward and peek out. The kitchen was empty, no Gogol in sight, and, your luck was good, a backdoor was in reach. So, you dashed for it, too excited and panicked to care about the noise or anything else, trying to unlock it with unsteady hands and than tearing it open.

However, before you could run out into the cold, crisp night air that had just hit you in the face like a schoolyard bully, without a sound of a single footstep to warn you, you felt a strong arm wrap around your midsection and hoist you up until your feet no longer touched the tile floor. You kicked and shrieked of course, but from what you could see, the house was at least in the countryside, so your pleas for help were unheard by anyone but the distant cows or deer.            "What a naughty, naughty Golubka! I was already going to take you outside, you should've known better than to try and go out alone!" Gogol chided, sounding sickeningly amused by your attempt. You hated that, hated that in this moment of near freedom after such an embarrassing low point, you were snatched back into the darkness, and he had the balls to be happy. As if the small crumb of escape  wasn't insult enough, you wouldn't even get the pleasure of pissing Gogol off. Instead, as you thrashed and yowled, fighting for all your worth to get free before he could shut the door and lock you away again, the clown was giggling. He giggled and relished the struggle you put up as he carried you back through the pantry, tore your hands from the door frame when you tried to latch onto that, getting a few more gulps of non-basement air before being brought back into your cement prison and teleported back into your cage. Of course you threw one hell of a fit, throwing pillows and blankets at the bars, shrieking insults at the twisted grin of your captor, but he simply waited for you to exhaust yourself before speaking again, his voice a calm, almost playful scolding,            "Now look what you've gotten yourself. Instead of a nice walk with me, you must now stay in the cage. Maybe next time either think twice before bolting, or be quicker." he said, and you kicked the cages side again, making him full out laugh before vanishing again. The last thing you saw before returning to the dimly lit darkness, was that slice of light being slowly, tauntingly thinned until the basement door clicked shut once more.

[m00nlitknight]

librarian helper

fandom: IT (2017) pairing:  henry bowers / goody-two-shoes reader word count:  1,635 warnings:  none to really point out? henry being henry?? summary:   Oh, how one tires of stagnant days. extra:   my favorite part of this is when richie said 'mullet-boy bowers' im iconic. i also finished this at like 3am pls b gentle i hope i wrote henry ok! feedback is highly appreciated, thank you for reading!

archive of our own link.

Monday mornings in Derry weren’t ideal, regardless of the context. Teens awoken far too early for their own good, forced to come to grips with the reality that it was the first day back from the weekend. Trudging through the crowded student body and longing for the day to be over just as soon as it was to begin. A variety of feelings made the air heavy and thick with a concoction so truthful to the high school experience; frustration, exhaustion, and the underlying scent of yearning.

Few an individual found themselves bragging of the weekend’s extracurricular activities, cackling with an unusual vigor and energy unlike the rest of their near-ghoulish peers. Others were sitting on the ground, rushing through their assignments with adrenaline only just granted to them; oh yes, the heart-stopping experience of forgetting that there was homework.

Fortunately, you’d hadn’t found yourself in that predicament this morning, having thoroughly done your homework on Friday night. Best to do it then push it off and forget it; your own philosophy. Not to say you hadn’t found yourself in the same situation in times past, nor were you above those whose memory’s had failed them.

Quietly you step up to your locker, opening it and glancing down to your left, where Richie Tozier was currently scribbling nonsense down on what you assumed to be Government. You hummed, putting your things away quickly and retrieving what looked to be the same assignment - some stupid worksheet the teacher assigned, no doubt some kind of busywork. Your class truly had no grasp on the concept of being ‘quiet,’ which annoyed you to no end.

You squatted down to his level, with his pencil not even ceasing as you set the paper in his peripheral. No teachers were at their morning posts yet, either that or the ones who were supposed to be there simply didn’t care to be there.

“Oh - uh, shit, how much?” His eyes shifted from you to the paper quickly as he fumbled to reach for something - likely his wallet.

“Nothing,” Your voice leaves you laced with amusement as you push the paper into his grasp. “Just don’t get caught with it, please.”

“Aw, c’mon! You can’t just hand it the fuck over for free, man, that’ll mean I owe you a solid.”

“Just consider it on the house, Tozier. It’ll be fine, you don’t owe me.”

“Okay, okay, but don’t come hollerin’ when you suddenly need a favor from ol’ Richie, alright?”

You hum in affirmation, turning back to your locker and beginning to sort through the things that would be needed for the day to come. Around you, energy began to rise, individuals of the student body reanimating through social interaction. The morning sun may not have been enough to revitalize them, but it appeared that the promise of teenage-to-teenage interaction was.

Richie finished his work with your worksheet quickly, shoving it back in your direction with a toothy grin. “Thanks, dude, you’re a fuckin’ lifesaver, I swear.”

“Like I said, it’s nothing! Do you need help with anything else? You know I have a basically free second period in the library.”

“Nah, thanks for the offer,” He seemed to finalize, standing up to go through his own locker. “I’ll make sure to send my dumbfuck friends your way if they happen to need any tutoring, though.”

You release a laugh through your nose, head shaking as you did so. Richie looked to you with a momentary smile, only to have it fall when he looked passed to the people around you.

“Alright, don’t panic,” naturally, you felt a little alarmed as a grimace crept onto his features. “ but I think you have a momentary peepin’ Tom right now.”

“Uh ... what ... do you mean?” You couldn’t help the faint caution and apprehension crawling into your voice.

“Mullet-boy Bowers is staring at you like ... really intensely,” he turned to you once again, putting an not-so-reassuring hand on your shoulder. “If I were you, I’d get the fuck outta dodge right now.”

With that, he stepped around you, maneuvering through the hallway - likely to class - and leaving you by your lonesome and, unfortunately, vulnerable. Quickly after his departure, the bell rang shrill overhead, signaling the beginning of class as students begrudgingly made their way to their first hour classes. You made yourself among their ranks, gathering your things to hopefully outrun ( or walk in this case ) any physical advancements the fellow student could’ve had on you.

The classroom’s door frame never felt more welcoming as you stepped foot into it, releasing a breath of comfort. Most of the class had yet to filter in, meaning there was more reign to choosing whatever seat you wanted. With a hum of appreciation, you step further in, choosing a seat not-too-close and not-too-far back for your liking, sitting down and preparing for class.

You keep your attention focused on your notebook for the beginning as classmates make their way in, sitting in various spots around the room and leaving you by yourself. Booted footfalls make their dreaded way over to you, finding themselves seated to your right. Sudden fear prickles your skin, suddenly making the room too warm and too cold at once while your shoulders tense. For the love of god, be anyone, anyone other than who you thought it was.

The seat creaks, likely with the weight of its occupant leaning into your vicinity. “Did’ja get the homework done, girlie?” You can almost hear the smirk in his whisper, as though he’s a wolf bearing his maw to a sheep. You tense further, shaking your head as you unconsciously lean further into the empty space you have right.

“S’funny...swear I saw you givin’ it to Trashmouth ‘fore class started,” The seats to your front and back were occupied by others, quite possibly remaining individuals who found an alliance with Henry. “Always thought’ch’re a good girl...be a shame if someone fucked that up for y’huh?”

Blackmail? That didn’t really seem like his style, then again it didn’t quite seem like you were being offered a choice of any kind - especially if he had the man power of his goons with him.

“So what’s it gonna be, huh? We ain’t got much time,” his voice transcribed his annoyance as your mulling was cut short, sliding the paper into his vision as he diligently scribbled the answers down. Across the room you caught the eye of Richie, quickly looking away in shame. You nearly miss the amused “s’what I thought,” murmured from Henry as he finishes the work quickly, shoving your desk with a bark of laughter.

The class continues on with its usually snail-like pace, much to your dismay as you keep your eyes locked on either the clock or your notebook. In front of you sat Belch Huggins, likely to his own humor since you were no longer able to see the board, and to your back sat Victor Criss who was able to sneak in an early nap. Through the paperballs being spat at or thrown at you from your right, you couldn’t help but feel that this was in some way better than having Patrick sit nearest to you - even if he was still creepily staring into your shoulder from behind Henry with what you could only guess was that irking grin. God forbid it was his expressionless face, that churned nervousness in your gut.

The bell rang once again overhead, signaling your freedom to the library as you scrambled to gather your things and rush passed before you had the chance to get cornered. Dumping what you had in your hands in your locker - you figured it would be for later you to organize - you did your best to scamper to the library unseen.

It seemed to have worked for the most part, aside from the bemused glances you garnered from teachers. Only momentary, they shrugged it off as you being a good kid in a hurry. As you entered the vicinity, you released another sigh of relief. If there was one thing you knew, it was that Henry Bowers wouldn’t be caught dead in a library. You didn’t really worry about his friends either, they were probably busy giving some unfortunate soul a swirlie, or whatever.

“Always on time, aren’t you?” The librarian, Ms. Andrews, rhetorical question was met with a beaming smile from you. “I’ve written things down for you to do, I’ll be in and out today helping the bookkeeper in the office.”

With a timid nod, you walked over to what she’d assigned you to do, looking through the short list with a thought of reaffirmation. Checking books back in, sorting back through them, and putting labels on new ones. You didn’t think you’d get through it all in the allotted time, though you were sure she’d been aware. Despite the world’s slow pace of going digital, Derry managed to lag behind - leaving you and your school with the unfortunate continuation of the paper system instead of being able to have the use of a computer.

“I’ll be back soon, dear, you know where where everything is,” she rounded the counter top before stepping out of the room, heels clicking loudly on the linoleum outside the carpeted room. A few moments later, the sound of boots made themselves apparent on the floor outside, going unnoticed by you as you began working on what had been assigned to you.

Looking up, your eyes met the smug gaze of Bowers himself - to which you tensed up once again. It stayed like what for an uncomfortable amount of time, the stuffy silence broken by the likes of you.

“Didn’t think you’d be a fan of the library,” you murmured, closing the book and setting it on the cart to be replaced.

“Wasn’t really, ‘till a lil’ birdy told me where my favorite bunny hangs out fer her second hour,” A sly smirk crawled onto his features as he watched you grimace over the use of the pet name.

He stepped forward, watching a physical flinch from you occur whilst he leaned his elbows onto the counter. It was stupid of him to get worked up over watching you squirm like that, but he had to admit there was definitely a feeling that came along with it. Leaning onto the counter, he gazed into your face. “What’ya say to us peelin’ outta here, goin’ and havin’ some actual fun?”

You fell silent at the question, blush darkening your features all the way to the ear. Unable to keep eye contact, you glanced to the pile of books that suddenly seemed way more interesting. “I’d say,” your voice came out so much more fragile then you’d meant it to as you looked back into his eyes. “Take me to dinner first.”

At your rebuttal, he found himself at a momentary loss for words, his own cheeks dusting with a faint pink. His smirk faltered, before returning at full force. “Can’t a man get a taste first, then?”

“ Uh, ” your mouth went dry, eyes suddenly widening. How could he be so forward?

“What’ll it be, doe-eyes?”

With a glance around the vacant library, you looked to him again. “Follow me.”

His smirk turned wolfish as you led him to the vague-privacy of the bookshelves. Once the doorway was out of sight, and the two of you were tucked away into a corner, you looked to him. “We’ll have to be quick...and quiet.”

He stepped to you, only partially caging you in with one hand. “I can do quick, but I can’t promise quiet, bunny.”

“W-we can’t do much,” you stammer, face flushing as he lowered himself to your neck. “I’m n-not that easy!” You squeak when you feel his lips press against your jugular, putting an embarrassed hand to your mouth.

“Thought we had to be quiet,” he chuckled.

You put your hands onto his face, dragging him backward to press a chaste kiss to his lips. Quickly, he swatted your hands away, coming to rest his own on your waist as you replaced your hands onto his shoulders. The kiss escalated to eyes being closed, lip nipping, and heads turning for a better angle.

You gently pulled away, in turn his hands beginning to roam your mid-section with curiosity as you caught your breath. When he brushed a certain spot, you couldn’t suppress a giggle, much to his amusement as he began to brush it intentionally.

“Henry!” You giggle, putting your hands on his chest to push him away.

“Y’know, I like the sound of my name on your lips, doe-eyes,” He pressed a kiss to your lips once again before pulling away completely. “Maybe you’ll be sayin’ it with more gusto tonight, huh?”

Your face flushes, eyes widening again. “Oh - oh! Uh, maybe..?”

“Meet me durin’ lunch, we’ll talk then,” and with a wink, he set out of the library.

[chaoticlamphoagietaco]

2020?

Well what can I say, it seems like it’s ending with a bang, but there’s still two months left.

Biden is president, and trump has yet to retaliate, I wonder what that’s going to look like.

My boyfriend and I are having sexual issues, or rather I’m seeing issues in our sexual habits.

It feels one-sided, I please him (he cums), he pleases me and I don’t cum. It’s frustrating because I’ve seen him go on hikes, talk to people for hours, if you can be active in this way, why is it difficult to just suck my dick for like 30? I understand if you lock jaw, but over the course of our relationship, sex has been me being patient and him getting off. It’s hard to maintain sexual interest, and maybe that’s why my mind goes in these fantasies. I’m almost at the point where if we have anal, I know where gonna end up jerking off... maybe I’m asking for too much, or maybe I’m just tired of being patient.... I wanna see if he will be open to swinging, or wearing a long dildo for a couple of days to resolve the issue, but I’m not sure how he will respond, or when this conversation will happen. I’m hoping that Sunday will be the day but I’m not sure.

I miss my mother, I feel her trying to reach me but I struggle to connect to her spirit. There’s so much unsaid, that it’s hard to equate the relationship to only a spiritual level. I... don’t know what I would say. Am I angry for the suppression. Of my dance enthusiasm? Am I upset because I never told her I was gay? Am I upset because she’ll never see the fruition of my dreams?

Ri

Speakings of, I don’t know my dreams,p anymore.... or rather they feel like they are transforming. I wanted to be a research analyst after falling out of love with psychotherapy and sociology, but I realized what that actually meant. Research analyst is a broad term, that can encompass a business, health centers/organizations, government, and nonprofit. And essentially these are all the sectors you. And work for other than a school which I do not want to do. Through my conversation. With NASA I found more about becoming a data analyst, and while the salary was enticing I realized that was a computer science that didn’t incorporate sociology or psychology like I had hoped. When I stumbled upon market/marketing research analyst I was hooked. I knew that finance and accounting wasn’t my passion, but marketing itself wasn’t either. Marketing has been largely traditional, and digital marketing is basically a new field. I think this is why I made the decision to transfer my major so hastily, it encompasses everything I was searching for with program evaluation, I can conduct research based on consumer intelligence which incorporatess social psychology, and have the promising effects of impact. Or in other words, my research will be used and considered valuable to the company I’m working for or working with. In program evaluation, sociology and psychology, the effect that your research has is truly perceptional and has a large ambiguity around its impact. You can go 4-10 years without achieving a goal you intended, which is expected and encouraged in some situations. On top of all this, withi program Evaluation and psychology there’s an expectation around the support you give in the exchange. Not only am I conducting research for MBH, but we (the school) are helping the business attract African America. Participants to their establishment, which can be done in so many different ways, it would take. A considerable amount of money, resources, and process and attention needs to be there if you want to achieve an impact. How can this be achieved when the business in itself is not liable for its own pretentiousness? Or it’s own self-processing that I can’t change? Thankfully, with marketing I get the best of both worlds. I can incorporate my social psychology background, while also attending to my creative side in branding, and even furthermore conducting meaningful research that is almost guaranteed to have an impact (since if I don’t, I’m not doing my job well haha) and will be used as vital data for profitability will not only motivate me to take the job, my peers, and the business seriously, but will also compensate me tremendously well, I mean it’s very lie,oh that in 2-3 years time I could be making a 6 figure salary. With this in mind, I feel Clarity around my occupational pursuits, but as for my dreams... that’s another story...

My dance past is struggle to bring up, even typing....,

I was so close, yet everything was taking from me, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

With this, I keep falling in and out of love with dance, I watch a video and I feel inspired to dance again. I’m feeling more drawn to Alonzo Lines ballet, Nunes, and of course my all time favorite Batsheva. But watching hip hop videos make me cry, it reminds me of what I use to be, what I could have become, and how many friends I’ve lost along the way. Dance is brutual, forcing vulnerability and deep connection within a short period of time, I’m not sure how I to come back to it but I’m getting more inspired to. My roommate doesn’t make me feel comfortable eno to explore my creative side, but when me and bf live together, I hope I can feel more comfortable and start recording myself more often, the encouragement he brings is so ephemeral, I’m lucky to have him. But I know that at the least, if I came back to dance, I outdone be more interested in dance film, and being inside of that industry rather than concert dance, sinner the world is kind of moving into a digital world, definitely open to site specific work, given the right amount of viewers and support of course,

For my other dreams that are transforming, I know want to become marketing manager, and possibly a yoga teacher. I’ve gone back and forth with a yogic certificate, but I didn’t feel that I had enough practice, knowledge, or the right people to start with a subject like that. But fuck, I mean soooo many white people do it haha. I’m feeling more motivation for this certificate since I realized that I can make friends this way. I can find like minded people who practice, engage in processing, and are willing to go into platonic physical interactions, since I’m also realizing this is crucial for me in any platonic relationship. If this program started progressing, this could become a business that provides an income, I met awesome people, and I can a lot of ppl along the way. Downsides are of course if the business collapses, but I would gain knowledge in Hinduism which I’ve been wanting but unsure how to engage in.

What’s serendipitous though, is that the the timing of marketing could not be better, a program has a date right after my classes end, I can attend their classes, then continue my spring courses, and work a full time job and on my way to 6 figures. There’s so many resources and side that this transition feels right and meaningful, I’m feeling good about this change, I just hope I won’t want to change again 5 years from now.

Hinduism and Buddhism.... my practices and faith have been wavering, after Naropa, my experience with Buddhism is a bit tainted, maybe I need to go to retreat again and release any energy surrounding my mother, but other factors play a part. The prentiousness, the fake smiles, that school had a lot of problems, but none more so than racism pure and simple. This is why I love Virginia, racism over there is overt and blatant, I know who the racist is and I know where not to go. Here in boulder, everybody will smile at you, and you don’t know who is truly being racist, you have to really read behind the lines and analyze to understand the truth of what somebody is saying, I mean the school burned down on its own so I think my wishes are being granted... I don’t know where this leaves me with Buddhism, Charlotta was amazing, and I want to attend her classes, but something always holds me back and I don’t know what. In regards to Hinduism, my yoga sequence has pretty much been the only stabilizing thing in my life. Through all the obstacles and trauma, maintains these practices have really kept me balanced through whatever comes my way, although I have been slacking I some ways, I’ve also been progressing in chakras, balancing, and following a routine. Maybe in this way, Buddhism is something for me to contemplate, maybe Hinduism is what I want to talk about...there it is, Buddhism is my process and Hinduism is my faith. Shiva will always be my everything, in not sure why on that mountain, or even if I made a connection, but that trip to Japan truly changed me, and I want to follow a Shiva path that is right for me, I just wish I had someone to help guide me, but that might make things harder.

[rhinozilla]

Whumptober Day 15: Scars

Summary: Some scars aren't physical, but that doesn't mean the damage didn't leave anything behind. Connor and Hank are all too aware of that as the ice storm rages outside.

--

Fall seemed to wink at Detroit as it passed by, and then it was abruptly, violently, winter. Neither Connor nor Hank held any warm feelings toward the cold that swallowed up the city, but Hank’s dislike of it and the reason why were both well known. Connor knew that his own aversion to cold weather was no secret either, but his quiet complaints blended in well enough with the rest of the bullpen’s louder whining that it didn’t raise any eyebrows as to why an android would hate cold.

Because he did. He HATED it.

Unfortunately, where the bullpen provided a level of organized chaos to hide his bad mood, the quiet of Hank’s house only drew attention to it. It certainly didn’t help that the first storm of the season had knocked out the power on the entire block, dropping the house into a dark stillness as the evening rolled into a windy night.

Ice. Ice and snow.

No television or radio to use as distraction. Not even the hum of the heater or other appliances to focus on as the cold pressed in now that the power was out.

The house creaked slightly as the wind pushed at its outside walls.

Ice and snow and wind.

Sitting on the couch, where he hadn’t moved in two hours and four minutes since the power went out, Connor continued to stare at a fixed point on the wall. Hank had been grumbling as he moved around the house, stockpiling blankets, candles, and flashlights on the coffee table. He’d also been accumulating layers of clothing every time he moved into Connor’s line of sight, but Connor didn’t fully register it. Didn’t fully see him.

With each lash of the wind against the siding and the rising shelf of snow and ice on the window sills, all Connor could see was the Garden. Its frozen pond and snow painted flowers. The walls of grey created by the biting wind. Her silhouette standing just out of his reach. Feeling her influence reach into him anyway, through him, until he had had the gun in his hands, and she had aimed his hand toward Markus that night.

Somehow, even through the blizzard, through the cold and the memories, he swore he could smell roses.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Connor startled with a full body jerk.

“Whoa!” Hank yanked his hand back, stepping around the couch. “Sorry, did you fall asleep with your eyes open or something? Been sitting there like a fucking mannequin.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice came out weak, which was odd, and he frowned, forcing it to sound stronger. “Do you need help?”

Hank stood in front of him, eying him suspiciously. He glanced at the stockpile of supplies on the coffee table and back to Connor.

“No…Coulda used that help earlier, but whatever…” he said gruffly.

Connor wasn’t sure what his response was expected to be, and his social integration program did not supply with him any options. So he just stared at Hank, slightly lost.

Hank made a low, impatient noise and shook his head, tugging out his phone and checking a weather app on it.

“Guess we’re in for a whole night of this shit…Fuck,” he mumbled, pocketing his phone and looking at Connor again. “It’s only gonna get colder in here. You got a heater in there somewhere—“ he gestured toward Connor’s chest, “—or do you need some layers?”

“My model is not as susceptible to temperature fluctuations as humans,” he replied.

“Not my question,” Hank stated. “You hate being cold almost as much as me. Here, put this on.”

Hank grabbed up a burgundy colored hoodie from the top of the pile, tossing it into Connor’s lap.

“I’m not as susceptible—“

“Just put it on. Fuck. You’re making me cold just looking at you without it.”

Connor paused and slowly obliged, pulling on the sweater. It was a few sizes too large, and the extra fabric bunched around his stomach and the elbows of the sleeves. He made little attempt to adjust it, just sinking back into the couch again. Sumo had curled up on his bed against the wall, only idly watching Hank mill around.

“Why DO you hate cold so much?” Hank asked, rubbing his hands together and pacing slowly about the living room.

“I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Tch, yeah me neither.”

Connor’s eyes dropped to the floor. He tried to will back the phantom feeling of the Garden’s icy wind pushing through the seams of his clothing, the pain of the ice striking his open eyes as he tried to find Kamski’s emergency exit, the slick of compressed snow under his feet as he struggled to walk through it. It wasn’t real, he told himself. It hadn’t been real then…and it wasn’t real now…

A particularly sharp gust of wind rattled the windows in their panes, and a shrill whistle screamed through a gap somewhere. Connor visibly flinched, unable to clamp down on the reaction fast enough.

“What is wrong with you?” Hank asked, his voice irritated but his concern still evident.

“I’m fully functional.” Connor said, realizing too late that intonation in his voice had shut itself off, causing him to sound mechanical in his reply.

“Bullshit.” Hank faced him fully. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

He crossed over and reached out a hand, giving Connor’s shoulder a light shake.

“Just loosen—“

“Don’t touch me,” Connor said in a rush, pulling his shoulder away from the hand and shrinking back into the couch.

Hank’s eyes went wide, and Connor staunchly threw his gaze into the kitchen.

“Please,” he tried to inject inflection into his voice manually. “I’m fine.”

Hank carefully stepped between Connor and the coffee table, lowering himself to sit on the table, directly in front of Connor. His irritated expression had smoothed.

“Bullshit,” he accused again, this time soft and concerned.

The living room was lit by a few candles, one battery powered lantern, and the panicked yellow glow of Connor’s LED. He frowned and tried to force it back to blue. It resisted, and he didn’t have the energy to fight it.

“Connor,” Hank said, and there was a gentle demand in his tone that made Connor meet his eyes again. “Talk to me, son.”

Connor stared at him, then dropped his eyes to the edge of the coffee table, shaking his head slowly. He didn’t see how speaking the memory aloud would do any good. It wouldn’t undo it. It wouldn’t help him to push it away. And anyway, he couldn’t make Hank understand why he was reacting this way. To be locked inside your own mind, to feel someone else move your body like a marionette…At least before deviancy, he had had the illusion of deciding to take the actions that he did. But after the freighter, the lack of autonomy had been undeniable and…invasive.

The blizzard then hadn’t numbed him enough to not feel it, and with each degree that dropped in the house now, he could feel it again as though it had been yesterday.

“Okay,” Hank was saying, not moving from his spot. “You don’t have to explain, but…at least tell me how I can help you right now. What do you need?”

“To…not be cold.”

He cringed inwardly at the childish simplicity of the request, but it…was all that he needed. It was the only thing that he decided would help.

“Hey, I bet we can do something about that,” Hank said, standing off the coffee table. “I’ve got an electric blanket with your name on it.”

Connor absently watched him dig out said blue blanket, and he dragged his eyes up to watch Hank’s face. All of his grouchy, short tempered expression had softened as he focused on aiding Connor, and Connor felt a lance of guilt cut across his processors.

“You hate the cold too,” he muttered, not immediately accepting the offered blanket.

“Me and this weather have been bitching at each other for years. It’s old news,” Hank said, fluffing out the blanket when Connor didn’t take it. “You’re new to it, not used to the way it can just…take you down sometimes.”

Connor had enough left to glare.

“I am fully functional—“

“That doesn’t mean you’re all right. Here…would you just—“ Hank huffed when Connor didn’t lift a hand to take the blanket, and he instead opted to wrap the thing around Connor’s front anyway.

The wiring inside the blanket was generating heat throughout the material, and Connor unintentionally curled forward, trying to get closer to its warmth. Hank made a low, smug noise at the reaction, and then he was picking up the pillow against the armrest of the couch, squishing at it to plump up the volume of it.

“Try lying down. You look ready to fall over anyway.” He dropped the newly fluffed pillow back beside Connor.

Connor couldn’t think of a reason not to do so, and he slowly leaned sideways, aiming to let his head fall right onto the pillow. He involuntarily clutched at the heating blanket as it started to slide down, and he took a few uncoordinated seconds to pull his legs up and get situated on his side on the couch. Once he did, a heavy sigh slipped out of him, and he pulled the blanket more tightly around him until he was practically burrowed in it.

The heat from the fabric pushed through the thick hoodie, and though his internal temperature reading was perfectly stable, he couldn’t help but feel warmer for the extra measures being taken. The old, nubby blanket felt like a shield against the phantoms, and he didn’t feel like questioning it right then. He was simply grateful for it.

“Sumo. Up,” Hank grunted.

Sumo made a low moaning sound as he obediently got to his feet and lumbered across the living room. Hank patted the couch by Connor’s legs, and Connor watched the big dog hop up onto the couch. His big, fluffy body wedged itself in the triangle created by the back of the couch and Connor’s bent knees. He set his large head over Connor’s hip, and the living warmth chased even more of the chill away.

“Try to sleep,” Hank suggested. “Maybe we’ll have power back by the time you wake up.”

Connor watched him pick up another blanket, wrapping it around himself before going to get situated in the recliner to wait out the storm.

“…I’m sorry for being this way, Hank…I know it’s…inconvenient…I’m trying—“

Hank held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t try to apologize for good ol’ seasonal depression, Connor. If we start that, I promise I’ll win.” He slid Connor a complex look. “Besides…the world doesn’t apologize for the way it fucks us up. We don’t owe it an apology for ending up fucked.”

Connor tugged the edge of the blanket up until it bunched around his chin.

“That’s very poetic, Hank,” he said dryly.

In the recliner, Hank snorted. “Smart ass.” He heaved a sigh and got comfortable. “Just try to rest and…think about something else for a while. Whatever it is, you survived it. Everything else will sort itself out eventually.”

“Okay…And I’m…I’m sorry you hate the cold.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry you do too, kid.”

Sumo yawned and burrowed closer to Connor’s back, and Connor exhaled warm air into the blanket in front of his face. It created a small fog as it rose into the chilly air of the house, but thanks to the blanket, the hoodie, and Sumo’s combined heat and insulation, he didn’t feel the chill. The cold didn’t press in any further, and he breathed a small sigh of relief.

When he breathed in again, the smell of roses had faded.

[ainaindou]

1feb2018

gosh executive dysfunction is gonna kill everything i try to do whether out of love, passion, or necessity. even projects where i am invested 100% voluntarily slowly decay in my hands due to the lack of a drive, and it’s so disappointing.

spotify is probably the best thing ive ever subscribed to 10/10 would recommend

concerning pasts. i’m not sure if i’m healing at all or just just really good at slapping another bandage on. most days it’s all very numb and it feels as if i’m merely processing information as an observer from the outside, sifting through memories and “feelings” that are definitely mine, yet they don’t seem to really affect me anymore. rare moments come when i have more time and quiet and suddenly my mind spins into overdrive and suddenly i’m me again, which is great but also feels immensely awful bc those “feelings” turn from cold information back into actual active ongoing emotions- god knows how awfully i process those things. 

considering the amount of failed attempts at securing a traditional career path it’s probably time to explore other alternative options but i have no real idea where to start. i could idle where i am a bit with no real issue but boy my parents are fking annoying about their passively suggested disapprovals concerning many different aspects of my decisions despite all the support they claim to have.

concerning present. context is actually super important and there’s never really enough. a habit of mine, for comfort and ease of mind i love to set clear and concrete definitions as to what certain relationships between myself and other people, and lock it as such inside my head. but relationships are organic and they grow and change and even sometimes decay. so it happens a bit too often that suddenly something happens that’s completely out of my expectation and calculations one way or another and i have to redefine exactly what is my standing with another person. sometimes adaptation is very easy and of little consequence, but other times, the complete relationship becomes rotten due to this. part of it is on me, whether or not i want to invest further energy to try and salvage a disconnect. part of it is on the other side, whether they want to be patient with me or not. as a side, i’ve only met two people in my life so far that share my exact social dynamic, one in which we can comfortably hold our relationship in indefinite stasis for whatever length of silence just so happens to transpire between us, and then easily pick up momentum wherever we left off and develop things mutually at our convenience. that’s super precious to me, and very comforting to be fairly honest since i know i’m not the only one who functions in this way.

i’m not super sure what my next big purchase will be. i do want a full-powered workstation/gaming rig, and i also want a cintiq. but i’m functioning fine with the tools i have right now. i could finally invest in the doll collection i’ve been thinking of, but where the fuck to i even start lol. my living arrangements are very temporary anyways and to invest in a physical item collection right now might not be the best.

i’ve migrated partially from tea to coffee. not like a full migration, but more like i just guzzle both now 24/7. tea at work and coffee everywhere else.

concerning future. ambitions grows slightly dimmer every year bc reality becomes more concrete. there’s also a really weird thing where i “know” what is optimal to pursue, but the arbitrary scale of effort vs reward makes it so that i don’t bother to optimize. this is a statement that applies to so many aspects of my life, and the end result is my life is mediocre. not great, but not horrible. vaguely i thought about seeing if i wanna find a way to become a tattoo artist bc for one thing im super interested in meeting and working with (on) people that normally wouldn’t be in my field of sociability. in any other context ofc i wouldn’t even bother bc my social energy level is like below negative but anyways i should look into that. it’s something, at least.

about actual romantic relationships. it almost feels weird to me that i have any sort of experience at all. and it also feels super alien to me (for most part) that i even care about this aspect of my life still. predominantly, i can’t be bothered. i spend almost all of my available effort and energy just barely holding myself and my life together and afloat, how the fuck am i gonna even be able to spare some for another whole living breathing person? my emotional state is super stale too, and it’s not like i have a desire or desperate need for intimacy (quite the opposite sometimes). yet, i think my own situation is somewhat akin to having acquired the taste of a forbidden fruit. i know what i could have, and i crave it so. even full well knowing how poisonous it most likely could become. my past experiences all ended up kinda suck, and i always kinda hate the things i did/didn’t do that made it that way. (except the very first one. we were young and completely naive and stupid some of what she did was fucked up too lmfao so) i kinda crave a very simple sort of distant intimacy and i have n o fucking idea how to describe or define what i want or if anyone else in the world is compatible with what i’m looking for. language fails me for sure bc i’ve tried at least once with this definition with someone else and the end result was we both figured out we said and agreed on the same words but we had very different definitions. our original friendship has been strangled also as a result. which is one other thing that i am exasperated with myself for.. it’s pretty much impossible for me to consider an intimate relationship of any kind with someone unless there’s a pre-existing friendship as a foundation. yet in the pursuit of a deeper relationship it just puts the friendship at risk and i don’t know if this is ever worth it. should i just be happy with the friendship now and like not fuck up shit again? is this also parallel to my tendency to not pursue optimization in my life? but friendship isn’t a mediocre thing either. super confusing and will require further thoughts definitely

ashmute has godly music for whatever’s left of my soul i hope they make another album soon bc there’s not enough.

my nose bothers the fuuuck out of me. not appearance wise, but the fact that the cartilage inside just isn’t properly attached to my skull and so slips off-center all the fucking time but idk if i wanna get surgical procedure done either. same thing about lasik bc i’m actually tired of glasses but laser eye surgery is not perfect and my vision is invaluable to me and my livelihood. idk idk idk.

anyway.

[snkret-photography]

Swallow the Water

I can recall a time when a few of my brothers thought it would be funny to send a pledge up to me and challenge me to a dance battle. I told him he was cute and to get out of my face before I fuck his. Probably 3rd time in my life I’ve ever made a Marine turn red. The brothers got a kick out of it and then proceeded to tell him that I was often crass and it’s just my way. I later found out that the pledges had heard a pantry full of stories about me either pissing someone off or cursing someone out. Not due to the fact that I was present when the stories were told but rather bitches can’t hold water. Although I think that is a generational problem.

Pro tip: don’t tell someone all the bad shit you’ve heard about them upon realizing those are anecdotal accounts and we are complex creatures, often times able to display what we need to in a moment. Also don’t reminisce about shit like you were there when you in fact held no relevance to the event or the partakers of said event, you’re snitching on yourself.

I did not even attempt to set this up. Something about that event must have been super heavy on my chest. No idea why. Doesn’t really matter. It’s a fantastic topic: motherfucker’s inability to hold water. As a matter of fact, a better idea is just swallow it and don’t bring up things completely irrelevant to your existence. I cannot recount how many times someone has recounted a story with details, mostly incorrect or highly fabricated, as if they were there. As a usual suspect in the happenings of the story, I am always displaced by trying to configure where they were during said events. But I always try to have a “larger than thou” message so I guess I should broaden this topic. Although, honestly, I don’t want to. Let’s be petty for just a paragraph or two. I mean, I’m bouncing around here, hopping stones across the lake. Focus.

Hold your water. Or in fact, get a protective lid for your cup and it will hold itself. And this isn’t just some anecdotal shit about drama. It’s not about gossiping. Has its application but people really need to learn how to keep a lot of things on lock down. Sharing is helpful. It has its benefits and allows you to put out an energy which the reciprocation aids in how you move forward. However, people lose their drive in this. So much of sharing ourselves, whether in spaces of comfort with friends and families or in the general public, requires a huge drain on our energy. And when putting something into a more general sphere of the public, the energies get muddled. Not everyone in that space has your best intentions at heart nor do they even have enough regard to give a constructive/beneficial energy. So when it comes time to do the things we want, not the things we have to, the things that we want to do in life that we’re supposed to be doing in our spare time, we’re tired. Many a night do we go to bed, placing the excess value on sleep over passion projects. We work for 8 hours a day to pay our bills, add the drags of commuting, eating, cleaning, that with the remaining hours in which we have to the day, we prefer to just sleep or netflix… just disconnect. And honestly, that is so needed. To just turn the brain off and relax, it is a huge part of self-care. Self-care is IMPORTANT. You may be kind, you may be smart but self-care is important and is often the missing element in a balanced life. Creating that space to just disconnect with the world, reconnect with yourself and keep you going forward. I used to always think that my disconnect meant I needed to just turn my phone off and get into my netflix. As life has continued to unfold in front of me, I genuinely think that if I have a future family, they’re going to resent me. I am a workaholic. And it is my version of self-care. Not to pour into accounting, although I’ve gone back to doing weird projects and consultations in my free-time. But this work. The photography, the writing, the writing more, the editing, bringing in people who have had an impact on my life and sharing in this journey with them, dancing; releasing all my energies. My self-care routine these days usually consists of a single day of disconnect from the world, end that day with a fat sirloin roast and spend the next couple of days creating content or helping friends with theirs. It’s what keeps me going and keeps me happy. Some of my best content is created or imagined on less than 4 hours of sleep and a stacked work week. My work gets done and my projects come out POPPIN. But back to the point: everything is not for everyone. The reason that my self-care started working so well is not necessarily because I changed my views on it but because I stopped talking about what I wanted to do and only would make reference to shit that was done. Unless I was consulting the person or bringing them in on a project or collaborating with them on theirs… no one knew what the fuck I was doing. As a matter of fact, I think that has been the single most beneficial thing in me getting back to my passion projects. Not talking about what I WANT to do but talking about what I HAVE done. And to speak on the past, you have to participate in it. (Look at me tying shit in. You thought I went off on a whole ass tangent.)

Now this personal shift in my energies and direction had a corollary effect on that of those around me. Of the people that I’ve brought in to collaborate or contribute to projects, they’ve really opened up about more of their inner thinking and happenings in their lives at a level that never existed for us before. I have also grown more honest in my approach and intentions with people. This has been received with a similar amount of honestly from people along with increased contact. I’m on a HEFTY detox from social media and whenever I meet up or reach out to friends, they always say, “I try to keep up with you through social media… but you’ve been heavily MIA.” I think it’s funny that the expectation has become that social media is the medium in which we prefer to keep up with our friends rather than initiating contact. I rip on social media enough so we’ll skip this week. With that, I often times am reconnecting with people when they pop in my head rather than just going to their story to figure out what is happening with them. That process actually led me to a project in which I am overjoyed to be a part of. Simply because they popped into my head one day and I texted them. We caught up, talked about some things and then they gave me an opportunity and I made space and time to get it done. I like to think about it in the most basic concept of “real recognize real��. It’s the idea of putting out energy to see where someone is at and they’ll do the same and once you recognize you’re on the same frequency, fucking magic happens. It also works in the blessings sphere; seeing some as they are and where they’re at. You can approach someone in a very open and pleasant space but if that’s not where their energy is focused, that’s not the energy they’re going to feed you. And it’s the quickest way to know where not to pour your energy because you’re not going to get back what you’re looking for or even what you need. As a wicked bitch myself, I can say negativity is infectious and when someone is in a bad mood or space or the energy is just not right, that shit just spreads like wildfire to any open to receiving it, either intentionally or those caught in the crossfire. Honing our energies and creating the opportunities we seek requires a lot of putting ourselves out there. Rarely are we in a position to accomplish everything that keeps us going on our own so we open up to others whether it be for advice, guidance, assistance, collaboration or simply venting. Every time I have an interest in doing a collaboration with someone, I also know that I have to now give them the bigger picture so that they can decide if they want to participate and face the risk of rejection which totally kills the idea behind the project. Yeah we live in a day of “shoot your shot” but rejection sucks and when you bring something to the table that you are genuinely invested in, rejection becomes personal and also you’re left wondering if they don’t fuck with your idea or if it’s you or if they don’t get the vision. Rejection starts a long list of: “what if I could have altered the past in some form that would probably leave me in the same exact place I’m in?” But knowing that rejection is sometimes a blessing has helped me re-navigate an idea. If someone takes the time to tell me they’re not interested then I see little problem in seeking out the “why” they’re not interested. Which helps me go back to the drawing board and then launch better projects with parties more in-line with what I’m truly trying to accomplish.

So I start with an anecdote about how people blindly follow and then take the considerations of others in which they hold no due to. The inability of people to keep information to themselves and reference to situations that they are independent of yet comment upon as to have some sense of relativity to the engaged parties. Broadened that to the topic of people oversharing. Brought that down to exchange of personal information. So what’s the TLDR? Harness your energy. Manifest what you want into being and take nothing short of your desires. But know that the energy you put out won’t always be received in the same manner. Take care of yourself and invest in yourself but also invest in those around you who are on your same vibration. And mind your business.

[amongushq]

Welcome (back) to Among Us, FLEUR! EDEN REED ( with the faceclaim of REECE KING ) has found shelter in NEW ATHENS, where we hope HE will fit in nicely. Please make sure to check the “after applying” section of our navigation here!

We got such a good feel for his personality on the surface in the first few answers of the inteview; it’s fascinating to see his whole narcissistic side, and how he really doesn’t care if people want him to shut up: he’ll just talk about himself as much as he wants. Then when we move on to the general background, there is the information that yes, in fact, Eden does care. He just hides it well. He’s a very complex character with obviously much thought behind him.

AND YOU ARE…?

What is your full name, and when were you born?

The man cocked his head, smile on the tip of his lips. “That’s cute, how you’re acting like you don’t know.” He had done his best to ensure that kind of information, his name at least, wouldn’t be lost on those campers. But he was registering for a job hunt, these questions must be mandatory. Sighing, he fell back against his chair, mentally bemoaning how uncomfortable it was. Someone descended from royalty deserved better. “Eden Reed, November first. I’m currently twenty-two — I guess you can do a little math?”

Have you been claimed, or do you belong to a legacy? If yes, state your godly parent / heritage.

“This is the good part, isn’t it?” To him it always was. He had repeated his tale so often he could focus on the other person’s expressions as he talked, delighting in the effect his origin story had on them. “My mother is Angelos, and I know, you haven’t heard of her, don’t hurt your pretty little mouth with those words. She’s a daughter of Zeus and Hera and that, my little bug, makes me royalty.” Even as the interviewer rolled her eyes, Eden wasn’t deterred. “Would you say it doesn’t? Anyway, you’re the ignorant one here, so I’d keep that in mind if I were you. Truth be told, a lot of scholars now seem to think Angelos is another name for Artemis or Hecate — it’s not. I mean, I’d know who my mother is, don’t you think?” he scoffs, head shaking slowly. Mortals and their big mouths. “She’s a chthonic goddess, meaning she resides in and has dominion over the Underworld. Her job mostly has to do with birth and infancy, whether people die through it or because of it. Fun job, huh?”

Where are you currently based? Are you attending a Camp (Half-Blood / Jupiter), or are you living full-time in New Athens / New Rome? Is it a combination of both?

Now it was Eden’s turn to roll his eyes. He truly thought this would be funnier, although why that thought had stuck with him until now, he couldn’t really explain. How come some people had taken so long in there when all these questions could be so easily answered? Perhaps they had been as talkative as he, but even then, the interest level of their pursued conversation wasn’t all that high. “New Athens. Where else? I’m too old for camp, obviously, and since I’m here with you to look for jobs, I’m not from San Fran, am I?” He leaned in, elbows atop his knees, hands clasped together like he would start begging any minute now. “Listen, I know you’re not the one who thought up those questions, and you have to ask them for the file you’re gonna have on me and all — but how dumb can you stand to sound? Can’t you fill that shit in and simply ask us to check? You’ll have your answer anyway but at least it would make me trust your abilities more, you know?”

Can you tell us a little bit about yourself? ( If you’re applying for a canon character, are you diverging from book-canon? If so, how?)

So that was why some people had taken their sweet time. Grinning, Eden sat back, triumphant. “Oh, you’re gonna love this.” The interviewer’s wrinkled nose and scrunched eyebrows showed her disagreement plain as day, but the young man hardly noticed. People always made a face before they got a taste of their new favourite food. “I was born and raised in the Underworld. Not too common, huh? Good thing we had fucking torches there and all ‘cause I’m telling you, the day I got out of there, I thought I would burst from all the visual information. So imagine if I had lived in the dark all my life! You could think, hey, your momma could have left you with your dad, right? That’s what you’re thinking.” She wasn’t. All the poor woman wanted was for this narcissist to stop talking – this question was always her least favourite part. Eden could have noticed all this in a glance, but of course he was too immersed in himself to care. “Thing is, she wasn’t too sure who he was anymore, he hadn’t really mattered. She had had some time for herself for once, made the best of it, and voilà! Then what, you think she’d give me to social services? A lot of ghosts told her not to, they’re great advisers, so she listened. That’s how I grew up with her, something I found out is pretty rare. I’m sorry to say my godly parent loved me more than all of yours combined. Loved me too much, actually: even though the ghostly company I had was fun, they kept talking about the outside world, and I was dying to go. Little Mermaid kind of situation, yeah? For years and years I bugged my mother, but she wouldn’t let me go. She was afraid I wouldn’t come back or get hurt. And I’m her only child, so I can’t be mad at her for being extra careful, you know?”

Even as he says so, he recalls the impression of not being heard, of being branded as too fragile to live his own life. And it’s true he has no ill feelings against Angelos, how could he? Still, the situation had been so tense, he had had to make his escape one way or another. “I was able to leave the Underworld using a disruption. The whole Gaea business was just beginning, there were just some weird problems here and there but we had yet to see them as anything more than that. Now, you know there are several ways to reach Hades, right? Not the guy, I mean the place.” He waited for a nod, started again. “Some kid went there, fucking wild as hell. Didn’t even know what was going on. My mom could tell where I was because it’s easy to spot someone who’s alive in a place where no one’s supposed to be, you know? But that kid was so close to the outside world, she mustn’t have noticed him yet, so I thought ‘hey, Eden, now’s your chance! If you keep the kid here and leave, it’ll be a while before anyone notices!’ Hey, don’t look at me like that!” Alright, he was effectively discussing locking someone in Hades just so he could have his fun. But weren’t the gods and mortals all selfish anyway? Why did people have to act like some sort of saint when they truly weren’t? Tsk, fakers. “He needed something anyway, and I’m not here for charity. Trade is what makes the world go round, so I help him he helps me, right? I just, maybe I forgot to tell him that before ripping his spirit from his body. Wow, okay, I can see you don’t believe me. Or you’re angry? You can’t be angry if you don’t believe. It’s not something I generally do, you know? It was only the disruption that allowed me to do that. I had gotten this ritual dagger from my mom, I never knew what to use it for but suddenly everything made sense! So I used it, hid the kid’s body, and left.” He made it sound easy because it had been; so stupidly simple because even he didn’t fully understand how that had been possible. It was all in the past now, why care about it?

“He’s back to basics now, the kid. Maxwell. My mom found out and I got a serious talking to, but the Underworld was getting even weirder and what do you do with a body? They keep spirits down there, not bodies! Some food of the gods, and he was good to go. Honestly, try any of this shit now and everybody ends up dead, we really got lucky. Besides, you could say it did me good to have a conscience for a while, although I didn’t really notice at first. That earned me some trouble, but overall I spent the best few months of my life up in Camp Half Blood. Made friends, had sleepovers, ate popcorn, got girlfriends… One of them’s still sticking with me, and I’m glad she does because I don’t think I could ever love someone else as much. That’s who I’m living in New Athens with, by the way. Gianna. Our place is below ground, because it doesn’t bother us, as she’s a daughter of Nyx.” He scratched the back of his head, sheepish for the first time. “Should have told you that underground home business after your currently-based question, huh?”

What were you doing prior to The Recall?

Moving on to the next topic brought the chthonic demigod back to himself. He was giddy as a child now, tapping his feet against the ground. His lips were something between a grin and a smirk, and he was positively buzzing with energy again. “I was, get this: a ghostbuster. For real! I put up some ads in the mortal world, and next thing I knew people were really requesting my help. And when I saw the charlatans in that business, the kind of money they asked and all, I also started to ghostbust their ass and give people a list of who not to call if there was something strange in their neighbourhood. And it’s weird, doing something for others, it makes them all happy and grateful and next thing I knew I got even more clients, more money, and I hadn’t even lied to get it! Amazing, right?” Once again, the interviewer didn’t seem to share his excitement. Instead she scribbled something down on her sheet that mustn’t have been very flattering or valuable for potential employers.

“I think we’re done here,” she said finally.

“What, really? What about me then? You’ll get back when you’ve found something, how does this work?”

“You already know what you’re supposed to do. I have no idea why you’re here.” She looked stern with good reason. When Eden, after a pregnant pause, burst out laughing, she had her answer. “What was that all about? Boredom, I suppose?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry — I almost am. Okay, you sort of wasted your time — but did you really? Dare say I wasn’t your most interesting customer today, go on, I’ll wait.”

Rising from her chair, the interviewer walked to the door, nearly unhinging it as she wrenched the door open. “I think we’re done here. Have fun scouting the labyrinth.”