#but like given things ive experienced and struggled with its always felt like there's something More going on idk

[straycalamities]

back to self-analyzing what the fucks going on in my brainium

[schizosupport]

this is going to be very long and rambly, i apologize. you can answer any, all, or no parts of it, i guess i just really need to blurt it all out to *someone*

for the past 3 or 4 years, ive been having mild (?) transient stress related psychotic symptoms. i suspect i have a cluster b pd which could possibly cover that

at first it was mostly paranoia i think ? usually the standard "theyre out to get me" type thoughts, both with people i knew and nebulous entities i couldnt define. it doesnt happen too frequently, but it seems to have gotten worse with time. this past fall / winter was especially bad bc i was already doing poorly mental health wise and was very isolated. a lot of the thoughts are still paranoia based, but some lean more towards delusions now (e.g. being afraid of the music i left to play from my phone speakers bc i felt it was hunting me down) as well as some that are fully bizarre (e.g. believing that ive been an angel stuck inside a human body my whole life, thinking theres a force field around my apartment thats keeping me stuck inside). for a while there was also this... pervasive sense of unreality almost ? like i would get frustrated that things werent operating on dream logic, or have difficulty differentiating dreams and reality in general. for the past couple months since then, ive had pretty much no issues

i always retain Some grasp on reality, whether its full on double booking or a vague sense of "something is wrong with me right now", which is enough for me to hide away from people and try to calm myself down and ground myself back to reality (... can you even do that with "real" delusions ? talk yourself out of them ?). the symptoms only last a few hours "at their peak", though the unsteady / unreality feeling may stick around for days or weeks surrounding that. im still able to be mostly functional for that part though. as such, nobody knows about any of this.

i just. i dont know. i dont have a therapist (i need one). im too afraid telling my friends will change their views on me irreparably even though they too struggle with (other) deeply stigmatized mental health issues. ive spent a lot of my childhood being called insane and incapable and i dont want it to happen again after ive finally found people that respect me. im worried ill have a full on psychotic break at some point (what the hell counts as "a break" ? can i call what ive been through "episodes" ?), or lose my ability to double book, or display symptoms in front of people i know. i just dont know what to do so im. spilling it out all here. so someone at all besides me knows

-- elias

Hey there,

Sorry it took me a while to get back to you.

It definitely sounds to me like you are experiencing some level of psychotic symtoms, and it sounds like it's causing you significant distress. You asked whether you can "talk yourself out of" a "real delusion" - and well, not as such, until the delusion passes, but they can be more or less long-lived and come with more or less insight.

The types of episode that only last a couple hours at full intensity are sometimes referred to as micropsychoses. When people talk about "a psychotic episode" it usually refers to a prolonged loss of reality that may last days, weeks or even months. But plenty of people on the schizo- and psychosis spectrum don't experience full-blown psychotic episodes. That doesn't make their psychosis un-serious, and it also isn't a given that these people will go on to develop worse psychotic symptoms.

I think one of the reasons the diagnosis of schizotypal exists, is because we needed to acknowledge that not every person's endpoint on the schizo-spectrum is schizophrenia, but that doesn't mean that their experience doesn't come with distress or disability.

I think you could try to do a vibe check with your friends to see how they react to the concept of psychosis and psychotic disorders. If they seem cool, then you could try to bring up your own experiences. It might be nice to be able to talk about those things, and get to experience that it doesn't have to be the end of the world, and not everyone will judge you for it.

I hope you all the best, anon!!

[ambiguouspuzuma]

The Fairy Shareholder

Kitchens Inc had endured another torrid year; the crumbling capstone on a miserable decade. The old board had been out of ideas: revenues were down, profits were non-existent, and the whole company was circling a drain of its own design, making and installation. They could have done with a fresh start, but that had been years ago. At this point, they'd needed a miracle.

"Shall we start with introductions?" It was the first shareholder meeting since the takeover, and board were ready to face judgement. As the shareholder present, Juliana took the lead. "Juliana Merryweather, owner and CEO"

"James Barentin, former CEO," one man followed. He was the spitting image of the company founder, sharing his nose as well as his name. "Now head of sales and shareholder liaison."

"William Barentin IV." The man next to him also shared in both; another chip off the old block. "Former head lobbyist. Now responsible for white goods."

It hadn't always been this way. This had been the first business of its kind in the state, producing and fitting kitchens for office and home, and in those early years the market had been theirs: able to set the price of their wares, and decide where they wanted to set them, with a choice of customers waiting for a consultation. Their founder, William Barentin III, had led them from strength to strength in those halcyon days. There had been a bust of him in the lobby, a sign of their prestige, until the recent desperation had come to pass.

"Blane Lumber, former chair of this office." The introductions worked their way around the room. Blane was another man, this time with no remarkable features at all. "Now in charge of surfaces."

The problem with coming first was that the race never ended. Today, the market was awash with competitors, all with more unique names and better brand recognition: locking down the 'Kitchens' trademark had felt like a coup at the time, but it was less useful in an era more focused on Search Engine Optimisation. It took something more catchy to seize a modern customer's attention, a sense of originality - and being the actual original didn't help.

"Harry Goldman, water tank specialist." Another completely average-looking man. Looking across the desk, Juliana saw that most of the others were. She really had to get better at that, with workplace diversity and all. "I look after plumbing."

Of course, Juliana knew who each of them were, even if a few did look a little too alike. She'd given them their jobs, and given most of them their names. James had brought her in, and survived as the only remnant from the old board, helping with the transition to her new regime. Everyone else had gone, and their salaries had been the first costs they had saved.

She'd actually wanted a complete overhaul, but then James was a salesman, and he'd managed to convince her of what he could add: Juliana supposed she wasn't the first the step into the showroom wanting a clean slate, only to be upsold to the speckled marble tiles and countertops instead. She was glad of him, though. The others could be difficult to manage, and it was good to have an experienced hand to show them how things worked - hands included.

It hadn't been hard to convince him of her own resume. She'd started off as a godmother, like most in her industry, but corporations were people in law, and 'minority shareholder' felt roughly equivalent. They called them angel investors: venture capitalists who came in to support struggling businesses, management consultants who helped them to turn things around. She was a new kind of patron for the consumerist age, giving a makeover to miserable companies and helping to change their fortunes as a result.

Juliana had been used to making coaches out of pumpkins, their drivers out of mice; now she turned them into career coaches instead, or made do with computer mice to drive the business on. It was a massive saving on staff costs. They only cost her an arm and a leg, or two, and the rest of the body to attach them to. She arrived in a shower of sparkles, slashed expenses, found a few efficiencies, and sent them on their way. If that was their dream, even the most down-on-their-luck company would go to the IPO.

"Blane, if you could go first." With the roll-call out of the way, she moved onto the numbers. It was largely good news. "Worktop installations are up twice on last quarter. Are we sure these figures are accurate?"

"Well, we do employ a number of counter-fitters." In exchange for her investment, Juliana had told James she would need a seat on the board. That was Blane. He'd been an office chair until she gave him a promotion, and liked making her regret it. "But yes, business has been good. We've focused on the areas you suggested, and it's really working out."

"Excellent." She turned to Harry, who had once been the office goldfish. "Did the savings on sinks work out?"

"They're still working," he said. Harry had been his original name, which had saved her from having to think of one. He'd always known his way around a bowl, but the promotion had been a whole new learning curve: having to find his feet, and then figure out how to use them. "We have a steady flow of work coming in, but most of it's still in the pipeline. You'll see it in next quarter's numbers."

The puns were a side effect: on receiving the gift of language, her creations felt the immediate urge to play with it, like a child unwrapping a new toy on Christmas morning. Juliana had tried to tone them down, but at the end of the day there was no harm in letting the board have fun, provided the business was running smoothly. They might not be around for too much longer, and they might as well enjoy it.

"Okay, if you're sure." She thought about making a joke in turn, but didn't want to faucet. "But remember what's at stake here, gentlemen. We can't afford to let this company go bust. No offence, William."

"None taken." William was the old head in the room, having been in the company for generations. He'd been the bust of the founder in the lobby, now transformed from marble into flesh: it was easier, when Juliana had something similar in appearance to start from. It gave her more to work with, rather than having to come up with the details by herself.

"I'm confident," Harry assured her. "I'm basin everything on solid data from James's team. And yes, we know the stakes. How could we forget?"

She'd given them that briefing on day one. The company needed to get back into the black before the clock struck year-end, or else the spell would wear off: the business would fold, and the board would return to their original forms. That was their motivation - literally working for their lives, or their new ones, in Harry's case. She'd thrown him into the deep end, and it really had been sink or swim.

[windvexer]

Howdy, Anon. Let's take a look.

hello! ive always been kind of an armchair practitioner, and ive recently had a not very good conjuring experience, and i dont know what to do??

I just wanted some advice in the sense of, a lot of people when they tell stories of conjurations and encountering spirits they speak of feeling a lot, and since i am a little bit more sensible towards energies i was thinking that i too would feel.

When discussing spirit work, there are 2 widespread misconceptions: first, that working with spirits means you will visually hallucinate the spirit as if it is a physical object in your vicinity.

People who understand this notion push back and advise that when they are working with spirits, they engage in the sensation of inner sensing and feeling.

However, this has given rise to misconception #2: that absolutely everyone will have strong feeling during all spirit contact, whether that be through emotions, physical sensations, or a combination of both.

Being able to adeptly feel spirits around you is a skill that you must cultivate. "Ohhh if the spirits are real they'll just make me feel real things!"

No, why would they? What benefit does the spirit get out of forcing you to feel things? It takes energy and focus for them to be able to force you to feel things. And why should the spirit do so? In your own story, you agreed to enter a working contract with it regardless of what you felt. So, the spirit had no need to do so :)

Some practitioners get easily overwhelmed when strong energies wash over them. Perhaps this spirit was being polite by withholding its vibes. Perhaps it radiated with a power which you are not attuned to. Perhaps your energy sensing is not as adept as you believe it is. There are many reasons why a practitioner will not feel or experience exactly what they expect when a spirit arrives.

Let sorcerous results and/or spiritual development be your guide; not whether or not you could feel energies in the moment.

i think?? it went alright bc in the end the candle wax formed a lion which was cute (the spirit is associated w griffins),

Agreed, very cute

i could feel a small energy shift and im having a headache now. but like. i cant explain?? i feel like this isnt enough to say that im not just making up a bunch of stuff, and what i felt was real and the candle wasnt just doing candle stuff 😭....

Anon, let me ask you this: what would be enough?

What signs, omens, sensations, etc., do you personally require in order to feel validated that a spirit has arrived?

If you don't know, please allow me to suggest that there is no actual "enough" and you are struggling with regular self-doubt. Self doubt is very common, even for people who have been doing this kind of thing for a long time.

You:

Summoned a lion-type creature

Sensed energy

Experienced a headache due to energy fatigue (I assume; headaches after magical workings are common but do have multiple reasons)

Received a candle omen that supports your working

Is there any reasonable thing you can add to this list which would verify your efforts for you?

If you are not already able to See or Hear, it is not reasonable to expect that the spirit will suddenly speak into your mind with clear, complete sentences. It isn't reasonable to expect you will suddenly obtain Spirit Vision (an entire skillset which must be cultivated) just because you have conjured a spirit.

What reasonable things might occur which would convince you, without a doubt, this was a real encounter?

I suspect no such thing exists. So, why worry?

Spirit conjuring and spirit sensing are two different things.

I see no particular reason to doubt yourself at this junction, Anon. You seem to be on a good path so far.

i also asked something to the spirit, which for as far as i could tell they agreed to help me, but i have no idea if this was just in my mind,

Valid concern. Discernment comes with time and experience. Take lots of notes and learn through retrospective reflection.

so if i knew if it didnt work i would try again, but i have no clue if everything went alright or not????

You will know if it worked depending on whether or not the spirit does the thing you asked it to do.

How do you know if everything went alright or not?

Did you experience sudden fear or panic, or a scary feeling that what you are doing is really wrong or dangerous?

Did you feel your headspace turn to a scary space outside of your control, where you felt like you were in a weird alternate dimension you couldn't get out of?

After the ritual, do you now feel a worry or anxiety that won't go away that you are being followed or watched by something with bad intentions?

Do you feel ongoing negative symptoms such as fatigue that won't resolve, nausea, physical pain, or bad symptoms outside of a headache that quickly passes?

Do you now see scary things when you close your eyes, like an image of a lion or gryphon attacking you or hunting you?

Are you now afraid to be alone or in the dark because you can't help but feel something is going to get you?

If none of these things happened, it is unlikely that something catastrophic occurred.

In fact, the worst case scenario for you is that nothing was conjured at all.

Second to that, the worst case scenario is that you did conjure something real, but no deal was made and it faded away.

Spirit conjuring takes experience. Note down what happened and how you felt, and resolve to learn more for next time!

i think im overreacting but i wanted to ask someone who actually has experience....

It is normal to have worries about engaging in spiritual contact with other entities. I don't think you are overreacting by reaching out to people who may be able to help you process what happened to you. That is good and normal. But, I think that it is unlikely anything bad happened at all. I actually think you had a very normal, "standard" conjuring experience.

hello! ive always been kind of an armchair practitioner, and ive recently had a not very good conjuring experience, and i dont know what to do?? I just wanted some advice in the sense of, a lot of people when they tell stories of conjurations and encountering spirits they speak of feeling a lot, and since i am a little bit more sensible towards energies i was thinking that i too would feel. i think?? it went alright bc in the end the candle wax formed a lion which was cute (the spirit is associated w griffins), i could feel a small energy shift and im having a headache now. but like. i cant explain?? i feel like this isnt enough to say that im not just making up a bunch of stuff, and what i felt was real and the candle wasnt just doing candle stuff 😭....i also asked something to the spirit, which for as far as i could tell they agreed to help me, but i have no idea if this was just in my mind, so if i knew if it didnt work i would try again, but i have no clue if everything went alright or not???? i think im overreacting but i wanted to ask someone who actually has experience....

First of all I just want to say that verifying spirits (or that you've even had a real interaction that wasn't just confirmation bias) is hard. So don't feel bad.

I'm not sure quite what you mean about it being a not very good experience. I'm guessing you're referring to the uncertainty involved, but if you think it might have been somehow unsafe, I'd suggest looking into banishing techniques (which honestly is just a good thing to know before you start trying to deal with spirits).

As for verification, it can be a slow process. One thing you can try is requesting information that you don't currently have, but which you can verify as factually true or false. This unfortunately isn't helpful if communication isn't really happening in a clear way (or at all).

I must inform you that I'm not the most experienced either. I've only gotten more into spirit work in the last couple years, and as previously mentioned, it's a slow process getting into it. I don't know that it's for everyone, but if you're interested in pursuing it, try not to be discouraged! It takes a lot of patience and practice.

I'm going to tag in @windvexer and @stagkingswife who are much more experienced in this area than I am, and might have more solid advice for you.

[cainightfics]

the detail in your fic where elliot was planning on lying to Krista to try to get specific pills from her was really good, this is something that I thought should have been talked about in the show and I was surprised it wasn't. another thing similar to this that I'm surprised wasn't talked about in the actual show is that elliot broke his arm as a kid, and was definitely given painkillers in the hospital, and this was most likely was his introduction to morphine. there are a lot of things I think about in regards to elliot's addiction in the show and how there were some things that in my opinion should have been explored further, maybe because I've had similar experiences and have friends with similar experiences but also because it's frustrating to me how obvious some of these details are and how much sense they would make in the show but weren't talked about at all. sorry for the rant lol. writing a fic myself and will be exploring these things in it because I can lol.

(anon from before again. sorry) it's just so weird to me that in the show where elliot's main traumatic event he remembers being when he broke his arm, and he later gets addicted to morphine, and they never explicitly connect the two events in the show. idk maybe we're supposed to connect the dots ourselves but I don't remember them saying in the show that he was given morphine in the hospital. it's possible they actually did say that and I just don't remember but yeah idk it would have made a lot of sense if they showed his first exposure to the drug he got addicted to being after the big traumatic event he remembers

i totally agree. it felt like elliots addiction in general was underdeveloped, perhaps because its something sam esmail has never experienced. but any addict will tell you its not about the drug itself, but about personality. i used to be addicted to xanax, i managed to quit (and had HORRIBLE withdrawals that scared me from falling off the wagon again), but now ive just turned to alcohol instead lol. elliots addiction really didnt feel like much of a struggle after he quit (which happened too early in the show, imo).

i also think it would have been a nice connection if they revealed elliot had been on painkillers as a child. given that the arm breaking incident was right during the middle of his abuse, if he were to be on painkillers, he might have the luxury of not being fully "present" for the abuse. elliot uses drugs to escape reality/his own feelings. if this was something he learned was possible in childhood, it might explain his spiral into morphine addiction later on.

good luck writing your fanfic! id love to read it when youre done. ironically, ill be exploring this issue in a one shot im trying to have done by xmas, too! it always felt to me like the addiction arc was pointless, except to lead to shaylas death (which was also very pointless and classic woman-in-the-fridge)

[trini-trin-trin]

Sharing this from a FB group that I am in. I was very moved by the article and felt affinity with the experiences shared. A really sweet read.

Here is the article if you don't want to click on the link (I know it is a little long, but well worth your time to read!):

The letter I received ten years ago was unsigned and bore no return address. Clearly its author did not expect, much less want, a reply. A message in a bottle, from no one to no one, that letter still remains the most bizarre form of communication. It asks nothing but to be read, promises nothing but to share a few facts and feelings, and, seeing that it must have been dashed off on a lined yellow sheet that seemed hastily torn out of a pad of paper, the author would not be surprised if, after skimming through it, the recipient decided to crumple and lob it into the closest dust bin.

The letter is one page long. One page is enough. The handwriting is uneven, perhaps because the author had lost the habit of writing in longhand and preferred the keyboard. But his grammar is perfect. The man knew what he was doing. I assume he was writing the note by hand because he didn’t want traces of it on his laptop, or because he knew he was never going to send it as an email and risk a reply. Now that I think of it, he probably didn’t care if it even reached its recipient, a local Bay Area reporter who had mentioned my novel about two young men who fall in love one summer in Italy in the mid-1980s. The reporter eventually forwarded it to me, minus its envelope with the postmark. It took no time to see that all the author of the letter was looking for was a chance to blurt out the words he couldn’t dare breathe elsewhere.

My book had spoken to him. His letter spoke to me.

So here it is: dated April 16, 2008.

I came upon Mr. Aciman’s book while on a business trip back East. Not the type of book I am normally able to read, so I bought a copy for the flight home. I think I’m glad I did.

You see, I was Elio. I was 18 and my Oliver was 22. Though the time and place were different, the feelings were remarkably the same. From believing that you are the only person who has these feelings, to the whole “he loves me – he loves me not” scenario, Mr. Aciman got it right. I was particularly impressed with the attention he gave to the morning after Elio’s and Oliver’s first encounter. The guilt, the loathing, the fear. I felt it too much. I had to put the book down for a while.

But in the end I was able to finish the book before we landed at SFO. Which was good, because I couldn’t take the book home. Unlike Elio it was I who married and had children. My Oliver died from AIDS in 1995. I’m still living a parallel life. My name is not important. His name was Dwight.

Instead, I kept the letter. I kept it for ten years.

What moved me was not just its sobering matter-of-factness or its hint of downplayed sorrow, but the associations it provoked in my mind. It reminded me of those short, clipped messages to loved ones, written by people about to be shipped off to the death camps who knew they’d never be heard from again. There is a chilling immediacy about their hurriedly scribbled notes that say everything there is to say in the fewest possible words — there wasn’t enough time for more, no smarmy pieties, no hand-wringing, no treacly hugs and kisses before the tragic end. It also made me think of the moving phone messages left by those who finally realized they were not going to make it out alive from the Twin Towers and that only their family’s answering machine was going to take their call.

“My name is not important,” he writes, almost as an apology for remaining anonymous; yet the author drops quite a number of hints about himself — hints he likely knows will stir his reader’s wistful curiosity to know what made him write the letter in the first place, what he hoped to accomplish, and if writing did indeed help. The letter itself allows us to see that he travels for business. We also sense that he probably lives in the Bay Area and that he travels not infrequently to the East Coast, since, as he writes, he is “back” in the East. And we know one thing more: that he simply needed to come out and tell someone that a man called Dwight had been his lover when the two were young. The rest is a cloud. We’ll never know more. Writing has served its purpose. We write, it seems, to reach out to others. Whether we know them or not doesn’t matter. We write to put out into the real world something extremely private within us, to make real what often feels unreal and ever so elusive about ourselves. We write to give a shape to what would otherwise remain amorphous. This is as true about authors as about those who want to correspond with them. Over the years, many have written to me either after reading or seeing Call Me by Your Name. Some tried to meet me; others confided things they’d never told anyone; and some even managed to call me at the office and, on speaking about my novel, would eventually apologize before bursting out crying. Some were in jail; some were barely adolescents, others old enough to look back at loves seven decades past; and some were priests locked in silence and secrecy. Many were closeted, others totally out; some were widows who felt a resurgence of hope if only by reading about the loves of two young men called Elio and Oliver in Italy; some were very young girls eager to meet their long-awaited Oliver; and some recalled former gay lovers whom they’d occasionally bump into years later but who’d never acknowledge what they’d once shared and done together when both were schoolmates and neither was married. All were keenly aware of living a parallel life. In that parallel life things are as they perhaps should be. Elio and Oliver still live together. And no one has secrets there.

Unlike Dwight’s lover, everyone who took the time to write to me did not withhold their names, but all had, at one point or another, withheld something very primal. They withheld it from themselves, from a relative, from a friend, a classmate, or colleague, or from a beloved who would never have guessed what troubled longings seethed below their averted gaze whenever they crossed paths.

Some readers wrote to tell me they felt that my novel had changed them, and given them new insights into themselves; some felt it was urging them finally to turn a new leaf in their lives. But some couldn’t go so far and, despite their perfect command of language, confessed lacking the words to explain why they were so moved by my novel or why they felt an unresolved longing for things they’d never considered or desired before. They were experiencing an upwell of emotions and of ungraspable might-have-beens that were asking to be reckoned with because they seemed more real than life itself, a sense of themselves that beckoned from an opposite bank they’d never known was there and whose potential loss now was a source of inconsolable grief. Hence their tears, their regrets, and the overpowering sense of being lost in their own lives.

And yet, they said, theirs were not tears of sorrow. They were tears of recognition, as though the novel itself were a mirror for readers to watch their own emotions laid bare before them. These responses made me aware that Call Me by Your Name does not call attention to anything readers didn’t already know, nor does it bring new truths or revelations; all it does is shed new light on things that were long familiar but that they never took the time to consider. It would be so tempting to say that they are reminded of their forgotten first loves; the truth is that all loves, even those that occur late in life, are first loves. There is always fear, shame, reluctance, and not a tiny dose of spite. Desire is agony.

Everyone who’s read Call Me by Your Name understands not only the struggle both to speak and hold back their truth but also the shame that comes whenever we want something from someone. Desire is always cagey, always secretive — we’ll tell everyone we know about the person we crave to hold naked in our arms, but the very last one to know this will be the person we crave. Same-sex desire is even more guarded and watchful, especially in those who are just discovering their sexuality. Awkwardness and desire are strange bedfellows at a young age, but shame and inexperience are just as paralyzing as fear when we watch them tussling with the urge to be bold. You’re torn between the raw horniness that makes you dream scenes you hope to forget as soon as you’re up and the scenes you pray you’ll dream again and again — if dreams are all you’ll have. Silence and solitude exact a cost that leaves us emotionally wrecked. At some point we need to speak.

So “is it better to speak or die?” asks Elio, the narrator of Call Me by Your Name, quoting words penned by the sixteenth-century Marguerite de Navarre in her collection of tales known as The Heptameron. Marguerite was the sister of King Francis I and the grandmother of Henry IV, himself the grandfather of Louis XIV, hence she was plenty familiar with court intrigue, gossip, and the risks of opening up to someone who may not welcome what’s in our heart and could easily make us pay for it. Not everyone who has written to me has dared to speak their hearts to those they loved. Some have sought silence — slow, lingering droplets of quiet desperation taken every night before bedtime until they realize they’ve been dead and didn’t even know it. Many have written to me with the feeling of having missed their chance when someone tethered his rowboat to their jetty and simply asked them to jump in. “Some sentence or thought on almost every page,” writes a reader, “triggers tears and knots my throat and chest. Tears well up in my eyes on the subway, at my computer at work, walking down the street. Perhaps I am weeping in part because I know that at my age there is virtually no possibility of experiencing anything remotely comparable to what Elio experiences with Oliver.” Someone else writes, “Reading Call Me by Your Name made me feel a love I never had.” A happily married 50-plus colleague took me aside and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this much in love in my whole life.” “I'm 23,” tweeted someone else, “and have never felt such love, until I read Call Me by Your Name. I feel like I lived it.” “Elio and I are essentially the same age,” writes a teenage girl. “I have never really experienced his environment of the Italian summer…My experiences have only taken place halfway between nature and smog, however I have felt the same tension, fear, guilt and overwhelming love that you express perfectly through both Elio and Oliver…Finding myself in Elio was something I never expected and I’m positive that I won’t experience anything quite like it ever again. The first girl I ever loved remains…the only girl I have ever loved and though everything she and I shared…lives now as a secret between two friends.” “I finished reading Call Me by Your Name a couple of days ago,” writes someone else, “and wanted to let you know how much it affected me. It felt like a narration of my thoughts that I had systematically buried long ago.” And finally this from a 72-year-old: “I was fascinated by the idea of parallel lives where would I have been if I had gone with him, where would I be if I traveled alone? Maybe the point is just what do I do with the gift you have given me during the remainder of my life.”

There are at least 500 more such letters and emails.

Some find themselves weeping at the end of the film or the novel, not for what happened long ago or for what did not and might never happen in their own lives but for what has yet to happen, for the terrifying moment when they too will soon have to decide whether to speak or die. This from an 18-year-old: “[Your novel] gives me hope that one day I will meet someone whom I desire so badly that I’ll actually find it in me to make a move, the way Oliver is that someone for Elio. Maybe my Oliver will also turn out to be someone that I realize I love as well as desire.” She was crying for a week, as was this 15-year-old young man: “I stopped reading…because I didn’t want [the book] to end, didn’t want the wounds that you caused me to close, I didn’t want to overcome, for some reason that I have yet to find out. I wanted to stay a wreck, emotionally and mentally fragile….My mother handed me tissues because she had never seen me cry like this. I had finished your book and ‘moved’ is too weak a word to express what your book had done to me. Here a week later and it is literally all I can think about, not my midterms coming up, but…Elio and Oliver and if it is better to speak or die. You answered questions I didn’t even think I had.”

Indeed, the whole novel seems to enable the outing of all manner of feelings, feelings from Elio’s relentless inward journey and obsessive self-examination that readers are invited to identify with. Through Elio’s unfettered introspection they too feel exposed and sliced open like a crustacean without a slough, now forced to look at itself in the mirror. No wonder they are moved. The mask that is torn off their faces is not just the mask that conceals same-sex desires from themselves and from others. Rather, it is the realization, through Elio’s voice, of what they truly feel, who they truly are, what they fear, what bears their signature, and what coy little shenanigans they go through to read others and hope to reach them. Some identified with some effusive sentences in my novel so much that they had them tattooed on their bodies. They even attach photos of these tattoos. People have also tattooed peaches on themselves!

But what moves most people — and this is as true now as it was when the novel first came out — is the father’s speech. Here he not only tells his son to nurse the flame and “don’t snuff it out” after his son’s lover has left Italy, but that he too, the father, envies his son’s relationship with a male lover. This speech tears away the last vestige of a veil between reader and truth and is a moving tribute to the irreducible honesty between father and son.

Most readers have written to me about the scene because the father’s speech rekindles the very difficult moment when they decided to come out to their parents — or, as is often the case with people 60, or 70 or older, it reminds them of the conversation they wished they’d had but never did have with their parents. This is the loss no one forgets and from which no one recovers after seeing Call Me by Your Name. It bears the very essence of that precious and life-defining might-have-been moment that never happened and never will.

Here is the speech:

“Look…[y]ou had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you. In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet soon enough. But I am not such a parent. In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything — what a waste!...

“… {L]et me say one more thing. It will clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you had. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got two lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then all those versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

I received the anonymous letter sometime in early May 2008. At the time, I was staying at my parents’, because my father was suffering from throat and mouth cancer and was already in hospice care. He had refused radiation and chemotherapy, so I knew his days were numbered; though morphine was clouding his mind, he was still lucid enough to bandy a few quips about a host of subjects. He had stopped eating and drinking water because swallowing had become very painful. One afternoon while I was stealing a nap, the phone rang. A reporter I’d met in California had just received a letter, which she wanted to share with me. I told her to read it over the phone. After she’d read it I asked if she felt she could mail it to me. I wanted to show it to my father, I said, and explained he was dying. She felt for me. We talked about my father for a while. I told her I was trying to make it up to him these days, and that he too had been exceptionally easy to be with. How was it growing up with him? she asked. Tense, I replied. Always is, she added. Then the conversation ended, and she promised to mail the letter soon.

After hanging up, I got out of bed and went in to see him. Over the past few days, I had made a point of reading to him, which he liked a great deal, especially now that he was having difficulty focusing. But rather than read to him the memoirs of Chateaubriand, one of his favorite authors, and feeling buoyed by the letter I’d been read on the phone, I asked if he’d like me to read from the French translation of Call Me by Your Name, the galleys of which I had just received from Paris that very morning. Why not, since you wrote it, he said. He was proud of me. So I began to read from the very beginning, and soon enough I knew I was opening up a subject neither he nor I had ever broached before. But I knew he knew what I was reading and why I was reading it to him. This made me happy. Perhaps it made him happy as well. I’ll never know.

That evening, after the rest of us had dinner, he asked if I could continue reading from my novel. I was nervous about arriving at the father’s speech because I didn’t know how he’d react to it, though he was the kind of father who would have given that very same speech himself. But the speech was two hundred pages away still, and that would have taken many, many days. Perhaps I should skip some parts, I thought. But no, I wanted to read him the whole book. My father didn’t last long enough to hear the father’s speech. And when the letter finally arrived from California, he was already gone. His name was Henri, he was 93 years old, and he inspired everything I’ve written.

[lady-plantagenet]

if you’re still doing those: edward iv / elizabeth woodville for the ship bingo 🕊x

I’m so sorry, this whole past week has been one massive mental breakdown and I have been finding it incredibly hard to do anything besides uni assignments and writing. Also, I have a lot to say about these two so I didn’t want to half-ass it.

Some Comments:

I don’t know if I told you this but this used to be my OTP, like years ago when I first got into this era and did not think/know much about Clarence and the others. But now it’s no longer the case and that’s not necessarily because it got replaced by gisabel per se but because I’ve always found it extremely hard to reconcile myself with the infidelity aspect. Even when I was more childish I felt a bit dissapointed in the fact that he didn’t appoint her (or Anthony) regent, like obviously now I understand why it was to an extent untenable politically, but back then my younger mind just saw it as ‘he trusted his brother more’, which kind of threw a wrench. So much for the ‘it’s complicated’ square. The problem with long marriages is that the delicious aspect tends to wane, and that can’t be helped in a 20 year long marriage! But obviously the 1464-1470 years taken into isolation... well... it was the epitome of delicious, sexual and romantic. You might find me pointing this out wierd given that I didn’t make the same remarks on Catherine of Valois and Owen Tudor who were also a pretty long marriage, it’s just that... in my mind they kind of stagnate age-wise even as they advance past their twenties because the whole narrative (historical and fictional) around them focuses on the first years of their union and the tribulations, whereas Edward and Elizabeth have a presence way past that as they were after all monarchs and never at one point left to live a quiet life and were no longer chronicled - so in that way they age before our eyes. And with that age you see the infidelity issue get worse, together with Edward’s greater promotion of Gloucester, his drinking, eating etc issues and it starts painting a sad image into my mind of like idk a love that at one point stopped being what it once was and could never again be - like the embers burning out? This turns the what could have been a obbsessive unhealthiness borne from passion into another caused by disillusionment? I don’t put too much stock into this, personally I feel the change in Edward was caused by other external factors and not Elizabeth herself eg Warwick and Clarence’s betrayals and deaths, the massive burden of fixing the previous administration’s mess etc. Nevertheless, Elizabeth on her own did not seem to be enough to drag him out of it and prevent some of his unhealthy habits. I do realise it’s a bit too much to ask for though.

Nevertheless, I do see them as soulmates, she seemed like one of the only people who could keep up with him in will and wit (though Jane Shore seemed quite a competitor in this regard) I’m not the type of person who thinks Edward was dominated by his lust, and I think based on that venetian letter (you know the Ziglio one XD) and the fact that it said that Edward loved her for a long time before marrying her, it was clearly a decision from the heart not the *ahem* codpiece. Also a part of the soulmate/star-crossed trope is the whole ‘they defied all odds, they withstood opposition’, and Liz and Big Ed are famously that. I would totally read fic for this but surprisingly there aren’t many! I honestly don’t know how come?? Like yes they do appear in a lot of histfics and the like, but apart from TWQ they are never the central focus, and even there we don’t get enough of them (which really irritates me). Some write me some!! I am intrigued by the pairing but extremely picky when it comes to how they are written because I have particular headcanons which I am fairly wedded to but do not expect they will be abided by. More in the pragraph below.

The Ship:

I absolutely can not stand portrayals of Elizabeth Woodville as a golddigger, much less some Marilyn Monroe type of bimbo. We know the type of beauty she had... a chronicler called her an excellent but solemn (or sthing like that) beauty where York in his letters to her for the marriage of Sir Hugh complemented her deep sorrowful look or such. She was a pious, economical woman who took her queenship extremely seriously and led a cultivated court, patronised literature and may have also written a poem herself (you know the one about Venus we spoke about). She was years older than Edward and on top of that a widow with two children of her own. I want to see that dynamic! I want to especially see how she drew Edward away from Warwick’s influences in order to put him on the path he was angling for: the statute of livery 1463 and the new sumptuary laws (that most famously restricted the length of piked shoes to 3 inches hhh) are very indicative of a king who (even before meeting her) wanted to install a strong centralised monarchy with a monopoly on violence and its laws. Not because of some rapaciousness on her part but because her and her family believed in him, experienced the exequies of war and wanted to put a stop to it. I want her to love Edward for putting an end to people like Warwick who caused all her family’s (and the gentry class as a whole) misfortunes and struggles, and in a way feel like she provided him with not only a circle of people who would help him realise this but also with a sort of family to soften the personal blow that he felt when part of his birth family betrayed him. I love the father-in-law becomes surrogate father trope (as I think you can tell) and I like to see Earl Rivers as that for him, hell you can take it even further and make Jacquetta as some sort of mother-figure for him as opposed to Cecily who apparently scorned the marriage and at that time seemed to side more heavily with George. I like to think under her influence she empowered him to act more ruthlessly in pursuit of his goal, but at the same time I think that while certain things were good in the long-term eg Clarence’s execution, (maybe Desmond’s??) they may have had a toll on the relationship later on. I headcanon Elizabeth as tragically hardened by the loss of her brother and father at Edgecoat and I think that may also have thrown a bit of a wrench into their love, given how she was faced with the violent consequences of being queen and afterwards with how Warwick and co. went free and she lost her chance of vengeance. I don’t think they were ever out of love though, especially judging by how she continued to be pregnant up to 3 years short of his death and the absolute trust he put in her. But I headcanon his attachment to Jane Shore as him seeking the light-hearted wit and lively banter that Elizabeth slowly started losing as the years went on and she became less vivacious and a tad more calculating and icy. I headcanon them as having a rift when it came to dealing with problems: she would keep on with her ministrations whereas he would just want to engage in escapisms. But the thing with the infidelity is that one should keep in mind that during that period relations would have to stop once the woman started showing, so Edward having affairs should not be read into too much tbh, perhaps it was more a type of addiction on his part like drinking and eating was - like all part of an excessive Epicureanism which he adopted to relieve himself of his stresses and sorrows (and boy were there many!), so not something that necessarily indicated he grew tired of her or whatever. Maybe she understood that and that’s why she didn’t make a fuss? But then again, the fact that there wasn’t complete faithfulness remains a personal impediment for me with this ship :// that’s just me personally.

Also the discussion we had about Mélusine and the alchemical elements and Edward IV’s own interest in such (which was used as ammunition for George when he accused Edward of engaging in dark arts to corrupt his subjects XD... yes I know très ironique)... made me headcanon him and Elizabeth bonding over this, and perhaps seeing their union as somewhat quite mystical. It would be something so interesting to explore and I think it’s a real shame that people nowadays recoil everytime they hear the word ‘Woodville’ and ‘Mélusine’ put together which is a shame because when handled delicately it could turn into something beautiful and it was certainly not a PG invention!

Also... those two have some bitchin’ fannart!

So yes, this was quite the stream of consciousness... but I do have a lot of thoughts for this couple! They were my OTP for the longest time after all.

[wavbleu]

Rodrick heffley: Keep quiet

tw: possession and degrading

~~~~~~~~~

"I cant believe she would do that to you!" you say with a short giggle, you look at Rodricks adorable face and my smile grew bigger knowing that the only time hes genuinely happy and laughing is around you. "I was so totally shocked when she bit me, my dick hurt for like the following week." He stroked his fingers through his semi-short hair and continued on his painful story on how he lost his virginity.

You and Rodrick have been talking for 2 and a half months now, you and him have an extreme connection despite the fact that you are totally opposite. You like to wear softer colored clothes and get good grades in school, and Rodrick well... doesn't. He doesn't give a shit what people think or say about him and just goes the way he wants to, Thats what you've always adored him, you were jealous of that.

Sometimes  you question how your friends with a guy as corrupted as him.

But when ever you converse the words just spill out of you, it actually feels like hes engaged and actually willing to hear more and learn about you. You've never experienced anything like that before. Speaking that most of your exes just used you for sex.

Whenever your around Rodrick, you feel like yourself. What ever you are scared to be in front of everyone else you show it to him and he strangely accepts it. Obviously, you would even consider him your best friend or 'pal' But lately ... the way he touches you isnt very 'pal-like' . Although it may seem like something small, he would massage your knee and work his way down your smooth thigh, stopping right before he reaches your inner thigh; slowly massaging that area and leaves you wanting more of him.

It could be when your hugging and he lowers his hands from your waist to your hips.. Stuff like that may not seem large but it speaks louder and clear that theres sexual tension in the air.

Rodrick finished up his tragic v card story and you both giggled, Rodrick then abruptly stopped laughing and his once loud laugh turned into a snarky smile. "What's with the smirk." you say smiling nervously not knowing what he will do.

"Are you a virgin?" He says, "Nah." You respond back to him. "Ive only had sex with 2 people though."

Yea you weren't a virgin (at all) but man when you had sex it was just beyond awful, terrible. Butterflies grew in your stomach as you watched him bite his cheek in amazement.

"Wow, Little miss Y/N getting freaky in the sheets." he teased, you droopily looked down at your swinging feet hanging off your bed and sighed before admitting, "Well it wasn't exactly good.. if fact it was absolutely dreadful." , "Well i wanna hear this to see if its just as bad as mines."

You adjusted yourself to lean against the white headboard, looking at Rodrick who was seated at the end of the bed. You wrapped your arms around your pillow and started reminiscing on how you lost your virginity at the ripe old age of 17.

"Well it was a party that was at some random guys house.. gee I dont even remember his name... I think it was like tony or something like that.","We were in this small group with other people in our grade, we were bored so we decided to play 7 minutes in heaven.." , "and it was my turn to spin the bottle, sadly."...

flashback

~~~~~

(skip if you dont like the extra length.)

You anxiously spun the bottle, hoping that it would stop on your crush, Luke Hannington.  The bottle spun and everyone watched in awe.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach as the bottle started to decelerate and fixate on a person.. tense but hopeful , you look up at the person the bottle focused on.

Luke.

You tried to hold back your sheer excitement and joyfulness, but it quickly came to a halt after seeing your crushes nonchalant, monotone, bored face. 'He was probably hoping for someone hotter' you think yourself pathetically.

Everyone sneakily snickered and whispered in each others ears after seeing his disappointed face and disgusted eyes.

You felt like bursting into tears after feeling the way you did. You felt hideous.

"So ill set the timer, the closet is on your left sweetie."  The host said, obviously trying to hold back her sneaky remarks until you get in the closet.

He quickly gets up and speed walks to the closet, you followed, fondling your fingers and biting the skin off your lip.

You got to the closet, atleast he was sweet enough to hold the door open for you.

You sat down on the carpeted floor, hassling all the jackets and coats off of you. Luke frantically searched for the light so we can actually see in this closet and took a seat after.

He closed the door and minutes later you heard it lock from the otherside, "Begin, lovebirds!"

The only thing that began was the pure awkwardness and his uncomfortable glances. "So um.." You tried to start a convo but failed at it miserably, nothing you were doing was working, he would always give this stupid uncomfy look or mess with his collar. You were milliseconds away from kicking the door down and leaving this stupid party.

"Im sorry." he said noticing your frustration, "I dont think your ugly or anything.", "Ive had sex before, but not with strangers."

Stranger. Neat.

Tension arosed in the closet after he asked out of no where, "Have you ever been fingered before?" ,"I think im a pro if i say so myself."

You nodded your head no, "Im a virgin..","Ive always wanted to though.." You tried to say seductively hoping to make him hard.  "Open your legs." He sternly demanded, you obeyed and did just that.

He pulled off your cotton panties and felt you up and down, then awkwardly slid a finger in. You gasp surprised, hoping he would've given more foreplay. "Um.." You moan as he fingered you in an accelerating pace , rubbing your left lip thinking it was your clit.

You felt second hand embarrassment for him, Luke Hannington doesn't know where the clitoris is?

You were drying out and getting turned off by his loud grunts and heavy breathing, actually thinking he was doing something. "Somebody lied to this man.." You said in your head. "No way do i actually have to fake an orgasm for this psychopath to stop."

You prepped yourself and tried replicate the girls off of pornhub, "Oh yes!" you moaned as you shook your legs frantically, a smile grew upon his face as he went faster. "Im gonna-" You dramatically puff your chest up faking an intense orgasm.

He stopped and swiped the sweat off of his forehead, "Good right?" , "Great, i bet you i wont  even be able walk straight!" You moan, you cheesily snapped your fingers and giving him finger guns to throw him off your awful acting.  The timers alarm rung, "Finally." You thought to yourself.

You stood up and walked out of the closet just fine.

You got back to the group who were snickering and giggling like a bunch of pre-schoolers.

~~~~

end of flashback

"Bad but not as bad as mines." He chuckled competitively, "Whatever." You threw a pillow at him. "Ive been cursed with the spell "awful sex." ever since that night." You dramatically say, "Is that so?" , "No guy has been capable of making you cum.. making you scream?" His voice lowered, looking into your eyes with a hot confused look.

"Yea pretty much." You sneakily adjust your skirt so he can see your soft thighs and a sliver of your panties. The room went silent as he looked you up and down, examining your body and its crevices , he licked his lips struggling to control the urge to squish and carress your thighs. He quickly looked down hoping you didnt notice how long he was staring at your body, so hungrily.

"Hey um.. y/n" He said scooting closer to you.

Your breath became heavy and palms began to sweat as you watched him scoot in closer.

"Have you been feeling it too?" his soft deep voice lowering into a erotic whispering tone. "F-feeling what?" You stumble trying to think straight, his eyes were fixated on your lips, he wanted them badly.

"You know.." "The tension?" He slowly rubs your thigh with his huge hands, maneuvering them up your skirt but stopping right before he hit, you know what. You hated that. You nod slowly to his question.

"You told me you never came before?" He questioned, "No.. never." You responded back. He put a stray hair behind your ear, then smoothly rubbed his thumb over your bottom lip.

"Can i be your first?"

You nod needily.

Biting your lip before going in for a deep passionate kiss. He wrapped his hand around your waist , scooting you up onto his lap. His hands adventured up your skirt again , grabbing your ass and slapping it. You gasp at the loud sound it made.

"My parents are home Rodrick!" You whisper yelled pulling away from the kiss.

Rodrick continued kissing your neck and ear, gripping your firm ass cheek, not giving a fuck about what anyone says. Like usual.

"Baby i truly don't give a shit, just keep it down." He sternly said.

"Mmm ok.." You moan and roll your head back as he made out with that sweet spot on your neck.

He roughly pinned you down and kissed you more this time exchanging tongue. He pulled away from the compelling kiss leaving a small train of spit

He pulled your panties off smoothly and stared at the sight to see. "Have you ever been fingered before?" He jokingly teased giving a little lightheart to this hot and spicy situation.

He trailed his hands up and down your wet pussy, looking for that spot.

When he finally got his hands on it you let out a small gaspy squeal, "Its right here?" You nod, breath getting faster.

"Yes daddy right there please~" You cry out, "Daddy?" He smirks, He slowly rubs his fingers around your clit. "Im your daddy now?" Rodrick bites his lip, "Then i guess your my little slut then."

"Are you my little slut?"  He asks you, he picks up his pace sending a small tingle down your spine, he giggled mischievously knowing that its gonna be hard for you to respond. You try to catch your breath but moans and shrieks keep cutting your words off.

"Are you my little.. slut?" He slipped in two fingers and fucked your tight hole and worked your g-spot, so much to a point where you had to grasp one of your plushies to keep from screaming. "Alright I guess ill have to make you say yes."

Your eyes roll back as you felt his mouth attach to your clit, swirling his tongue all around your sensitive clit. For the first time you actually wanted to cum..

"I think im gonna-" You bite into a pillow to cover the loud noise you were gonna let out.

Right before you were about to have an intense orgasm, he stopped. Edging you and all your senses. You whined like a little bitch.

"Shut the fuck up." He said unbuckling his pants, "Your gonna take this dick and your gonna like it, alright? alright." He said stroking his rock hard twitching dick before aggressively sliding in.

"My parents- ah-" , " I swear if you mention your parents one more time im gonna throat fuck you."  He said in a pissed off tone.

He threw your legs over his shoulders and slid a pillow under you.  Rodrick continued to fuck up into you, hitting that one spot again, and again, and again; and just to torture you, he rubbed your clit you were experiencing bliss, euphoria.

Rodrick swiftly took your legs off his shoulder and spread them wide open so he could get a deeper fuck, "stupid slut your legs are trembling." , "You really like me fucking you hard, hitting that spot just perfectly even when your parents are just sitting in their room ; feet away? " ,"Now when i ask this again, i want a response."

"are you my little slut?" He whispered into your ears, you moaned loudly and threw your head back, "Yes!", "Yes daddy, im your slut." ," I want your parents to fucking hear." He looked you deep in the eyes waiting for your response.

"Yes daddy im your slut.." You moaned loudly.

He grasped on your waist and pounded deep into you, the claps of your skin, the loud moans, at that point you forgot you even HAD parents.

He kept fucking into your tight cunt relentlessly, hitting every single spot perfectly. Humanly impossible.

"Cum whore i know you wanna." Rodrick says, you open your mouth but no moans come out.. that was it . You were actually gonna cum... Your legs began to shake and tumble ,  it felt like a large sneeze but in your stomach. "Im gonna-" You could barely get out.

You released yourself onto his cock, "Fucking hell." He said as he couldn't bare to last any longer. He pulled out of you and came onto your tired cunt.

"Damn baby." He groaned putting his softening dick away. "was it good?" He hopefully said, "It was amazing." You responded back excitedly.

That stupid curse is gone, yay!

Everything was good until you heard loud footsteps seconds away from your door.

~~~~~~~

Authors note:

This is a pretty long story but i actually enjoyed writing these ones, rodrick was my first story on this book (and my most popular) so you know i had to do the mf again🙄 pegging and femboy kink coming soon⚠️

[galleryfake]

answering every question from muse things - !

❄ — all striked answers are things that do not apply to him, and even if they do, he has no opinion/doesn’t find it relevant. three of the sections have been omitted entirely due to their lack of relevance to his thought process.

SELF + HEALTH

how do they see themselves? — as a part of the spider, nothing more or less. without it, he’d be just another person living uselessly until death.

how do they want to be seen by others? — he hopes he can be useful & that he can bring even the most fleeting, temporary meaning to his loved ones’ existences. he also, secretly, wishes to be loved, and to have it expressed to him in any of its forms.

what is their life motto?

would they rather lead or follow? —follow.

what motivates them? — working as part of a group, & discovering hidden or sealed away knowledge.

are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? — his tongue, as he dislikes physical fighting as anything other than a means to an end. he only fights to kill and doesn’t like to spar. 

do they have any pet peeves? — acts of pure emotion that have no thought or planning put behind them, that end up deconstructing something that could’ve been handled more sensibly. so basically... most things done by enhancers, in general. looking at you, phinks & uvo.

what do they most regret? —not many things, in general. when things get screwed up despite him having thought he had made the best judgement at the time, it will keep him up for a few nights, but he’ll eventually forgive himself and move past it. paku’s death, for example.

what achievement are they most proud of? — being the troupe’s only #12, yet to have been killed and replaced. 

what would they like to improve on? —nen is a very versatile pool of energy to work with, he will always be tweaking with his abilities one way or the other. see: his ice transmutation.

do they have any scars? —several very tiny blips on the expanse of his skin that tell of countless IV insertions and things strapped to him when he was younger. a fair amount of battle scars, mostly centered around his hands and arms. #justconjurerthings 

do they have a disability? — anxiety disorder & ptsd, both which he quietly shoves down and rarely ever discusses their symptoms - as both are essentially a given, considering their line of work.

do they have any allergies or food intolerances? —mildly allergic to pollen, VERY allergic to latex. the latter is the reason he doesn’t ever wear disposable gloves even though he prefers to keep his hands clean.

do they have any long-term illnesses or injuries? —being a clearly very premature infant having inhaled the toxins of meteor city’s trash, he spent his infanthood all the way up to his early double digits extremely ill and practically on the verge of death. his body went into sepsis several times due to a weak immune system, and complications with his blood vessels left him with acrocyanosis well into adulthood after being on and off a (cheap) ventilator for years at a time. nowadays he’s mostly fine, though, just very small and very purple in the hands. 

PERSONALITY

describe their personality in one word. — cryptic. 

their predominant emotion? —contemplative. 

someone wrongs them. do they respond with revenge or forgiveness? — calculative neutrality, then, depending on which conclusion he draws, either forgiveness or cautious distrust, but never revenge. 

do they make snap judgments or take time to consider? — almost always takes time to consider, except in rare cases where his emotions run high and cloud his reason. 

are they a glass half-full or a glass half-empty kind of person? — depends on the situation, he will assess it accordingly.

do they express themselves through words or deeds? — a combination of both, most likely a deed followed by a bit of helpful explanation.

how often do they lie? — not often, unless it’s to conceal his own weakness or to deceive someone on orders from chrollo. 

do they listen to their head or their heart while making a decision? — his head, but sometimes his head and his heart war with eachother, and his heart wins in tense split-second decisions. 

HABITS

how organized/disorganized are they? — quite organized. organizing is a small hobby of his, and he’ll often do it without even thinking as he busies himself in thought. 

do they have any routines? — his life is a bit too hectic for that, but he does have a specific way of washing + caring for his hair out of a shower and right before bed, to avoid tangles. 

talk about their mannerisms. — gesturing with his hands. making small noises to himself. flicking his head to either side to adjust his hair-to-vision ratio.

is there an item they take with them wherever they go? — his cellphone, for obvious reasons, and often a small weapon he can clone for traceless murders, such as a knife or a handgun.

good habits and bad habits. — good habits: cleanliness and organization. bad habits: repressing his feelings and keeping himself up at night with anxious scenarios and telling no one. 

THOUGHTS

their views on formal education vs self-education?

what are their thoughts on animals? — sees them as no different than humans, selfish survivalists staying alive by whims and instinct. this is not a good thing. he kills them as effortlessly as he kills humans, if needed. 

how much do they care what people think about them? — when it comes to the troupe: he cares a lot more than he lets on. anyone else? strictly 0. 

do they enjoy being the center of attention? why or why not? — he typically doesn’t, he gives himself performance anxiety by holding himself to a high standard, even though he typically accomplishes whatever he sets out to do with a high success rate. 

how do they feel about learning? — one of his favorite hobbies, and the easiest way to bond with him. 

which do they value more: creativity or practicality? — they go hand-in-hand, he’d say. they are both tools to be utilized at their proper times. 

thoughts on material possessions? — he doesn’t keep many himself, but somewhat understands the need to have them and assign them value. under no circumstances should anyone be deluded into thinking anything can be owned, though. even objects. 

would they rather win an argument or avoid conflict? — avoid conflict, though purely intellectual arguments thrill him and he actively seeks them out on occasion.

views on people in general? — food for the spider’s web. 

what qualities do they admire in other people? — confidence in one’s actions, clear sets of boundaries that they follow, and the sense that someone knows what they’re doing beyond a shadow of a doubt.

how do they feel about fun?

what do they want written on their tombstone? — nothing. he’d much prefer to have no trace of himself left behind.

what would an ideal day, in their mind, be like? — discovering something new to revel in for a while, and then ending his day in the warm presence of someone he loves. 

thoughts on privacy? (are they private or are they “tmi”?) — most people assume him to be very secretive and locked away, but he’s actually rather honest about things when asked directly - he just doesn’t divulge them on a whim. like with most things, he never speaks first, but this doesn’t mean he never speaks at all. 

thoughts on superstitions or the occult? (do they believe, not believe, etc.) 

what are their religious views? — none. as far as he’s concerned, everything is put into motion by someone’s individual will. if some god doesn’t exist, he’s not particularly concerned about it.

THE PAST

where did they grow up? — meteor city. 

how would they describe their family? — the spider. 

what was their childhood like? —plagued by illness. 

what did they want to be when they grew up? — alive to see it. 

as a child, what were they most likely to be found doing? — struggling to breathe in a medical cot somewhere in meteor city.

the worst thing that has ever happened to them. — first running away from the city by himself and experiencing withdrawal from being taken out of intensive care for his weak body.

the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to them. — whenever he’s called out for his emotional weakness for the troupe. he just loves them, okay. 

the best thing that has ever happened to them. — a little bit after being recruited, the first time he felt truly acclimated with them. like he had a family for the first time. 

which memory stands out most clearly? — meeting chrollo, and getting close to shal and fei. those memories still visit his pleasant dreams once in a while. 

TOUGH STUFF

do they have any phobias? — medical rooms or establishments such as hospitals. they make him instantly claustrophobic and if he absolutely HAS to be inside of one, he will make an effort to complete his task there as quickly as possible while still doing exactly what he needs to do.

do they get nightmares? — sometimes, but they’re never violent, mainly just sad and vaguely hollow and empty. from these, he wakes up feeling like he didn’t even sleep at all. 

what kind of person are they? — one you would likely be much worse off for meeting, if you’re not a spider. 

would they let someone take the blame for something they did? — sure. it was their choice to do so, after all. 

what are they insecure about? — his own emotional weaknesses. they’re a nuisance to his thoughts and strategies and no one should be bothered with them. 

what is one way to earn their trust? — simply make plans and follow through with them. display confidence and the skill with which to back it up. 

what is one way to lose their trust? — be an enhancer. *COUGH* i mean, be primarily emotionally driven and cause destruction as a result. such a bringer of chaos would no doubt be a headache to have around regularly. 

one thing they would hate anyone to know about them. — that he’s very soft and with simple desires. he’ll verbally deny being slightly clingy and affection-starved, but his actions will say otherwise. 

they have to pick one: to be loved, to be feared, or to be admired. — to be loved. no question.

have they ever been bullied or teased? — due to his size, typically, but he doesn’t really care. there’s no impact to his life if people think he looks weird due to his appearance, or his voice or his powers. they’ll simply have to live with it. 

FUN STUFF

what is their character archetype? — the quiet but deadly one. 

what are they confident about? — he is confident in his efficiency and ability to carry out tasks and speak truthfully. 

talk about their moral alignment.  — true neutral. pretty self-explanatory. 

describe them in three words. — helpful. devoted. curious. 

describe their aesthetic. — ancient libraries covered in dust. a snowstorm in the night. an iced-over lake reflecting an overcast sky. 

what will make them laugh? — seeing his loved ones happily goofing off and being relaxed, as well as any number of empathetic reactions shared by the happiness of ones close to him.

what makes them feel safe? — simply being near the others, or being somewhere very far-off and secluded from largely populated areas.

favorite color and the reason for it. — blue, simply because his hair and eyes all fall in line with its palettes and it looks good on him. 

favorite book genre? — informational textbooks of a certain field of expertise, or, in the case of fiction, mystery &/or crime solving. 

favorite movie genre? — psychological thriller. also may or may not have a thing for hallmark movies with cheesy happy endings. 

favorite type of muse?

if they could have a superpower, what would they choose?

do they have a role model? — definitely chrollo, and also, to a certain extent, feitan. 

what is their personal kryptonite? — choosing things/planning for things that involve the life or death of someone in the spider. in that moment, his emotions cloud his judgement and he can only find himself reaching the conclusion most likely to keep them alive. he can hardly bear to lose any of them. 

how do they entertain themselves? — organizing things, studying a particular topic, or playing a boardgame/doing puzzles.

[kpurereactions]

Love Shot

CHAPTER 1

A/N: Hello lovelies, Ive been working on this piece for quite a while now and im finally ready to post it. This was inspired by one of my favorite fics of all time, Good Girl, but given my own little twist. I hope you all love Love Shot as much as I do.

Pairing: Exo x Reader

Rating: Drama, Angst, Smut, Fluff

WARNINGS: Language, Eventual Violence, Lots of Smut Later on

Chapter | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 |

I let a smile touch my lips before taking a deep breath in, nodding once at the crisp evening air before turning to lock the door of my new combined studio and apartment. It was the first day where fall really felt like fall. The scent of rain lingered under the dense clouds and the sun was already halfway gone.  I had moved back to Seoul only three months ago after being gone for only a little under a year. I had originally came to Seoul to get my masters in painting and painting theory,  though I quickly gained enough local fame and connections that no one could quite understand why I left. So I came back.

I stood on the side of the road, my arm outstretched as I wait for a cab. My closest friend from school in the city was opening his gallery tonight and from the posts on my snapchat I could tell a lot of old classmates were already there. Song Mino was the first friend I made when I first moved here. He was talented and refused to fit into the art box the professor tried to force all his students into, as if art should be something someone else tells you to do. It should be your own thing. We had that in common. My style is simplistic. Aesthetic. Easy to look at, but the more you look the more you see behind the top layer. We both strived to challenge the viewer, and because of that we grew really close in our attempt to stick it to the man.

The first show is always the biggest event of an artist's career, and knowing I was seconds away from Mino’s brought another smile to my face as excitement seemed to run through my toes. I couldn't believe how hard he had been working, despite him refusing to let me see anything he had made to showcase.

The gallery itself was breathtaking, I couldn't help but note the obviously more ‘manly’ stain he had chosen for the wooden columns that broke the continuous glass of the front of the gallery. I was the one who helped him make his mind up. I took it in as it was its own work of art before I even walked up the short staircase to the front doors. The tall white walls were similar to my own space, but his had matching wooden floors and walls that were scattered around the room that broke your vision from seeing everything at once. I gave myself another smile as I noticed familiar faces of old classmates and Professors.

It didn't surprise me when I first walked in that I was being asked about the past year and how I’ve been. I was hard to miss, not just because I stood taller than a majority of the women in the room. The constant questioning reminded me why I chose to fail at reaching out when I got back. I made a point to keep trying to catch eye contact with Mino, who only seemed to mask the chuckle from escaping his lips, choosing to leave me to struggle with the boring repetition of the conversations I was having. I finally found the opportunity to excuse myself and all but power walk over to Mino, pretending not to see anyone else I recognized.

“American style!” He said excitedly, pulling me into a hug.

“Don't you ever leave me to the wolves like that again” I whispered in his ear before pulling back. “Mino this is awesome, I’ve only seen a few pieces but im so proud of you!” I said covering up my mild threat before hugging him tightly again. He chuckled with bright eyes before giving my arms a squeeze.  His eyes widened as he remembered the man standing next to him.

“Y/n, this is Junmyeon. He is a curator who graduated a few years before us. I've been telling him about your work.” He said as my attention moved to the slick haired man.

“You were talking about me at your own opening?” I said reaching for his hand to shake it.

“I actually asked specifically about you.” Junmyeon said with a soft smile that slowly grew.

“Oh, wow.” I tried to get out past the sound of my heart fluttering at his radiant smile. “Its very nice to meet you then.”

I was informed that Junmyeon was planning on stopping by my studio in the next few days, which brought on a new wave a nerves I've never experienced before. It wasn't until Mino placed his hand on my back to excuse the two of us could I finally breathe.

“Jesus, why is he so intimidating?” I said looking back over my shoulder as he dipped his chin to take a sip of his drink.

“If you think he’s intimidating your crazy” Mino said, leading me over to the first piece he wanted to show me.

“Did he asked to buy any of your work?” I asked before he could change the topic.

“All of it.” Mino said with a big smile.

“All of it?!”

“Yes. He’ll probably buy a lot of your stuff too. It’s more his style anyways.”

“Oh my god.” I said shaking my head.

I let Mino take control of the conversation as he began to explain the clay molded figure in front of us. I spent the rest of my time there following Mino around, while sipping on my wine and listening to him talk. Even though, as much as I was paying attention, it was hard to get your mind off of Junmyeon.

“Promise me you wont sell this one. I know you promised everything but see if this one could be an exception. I want to buy it.” I said pointing at a tall, organic figure of a woman. The memory of when Mino had made it flooded back as it was my first time to ever pose for another artist.

“Ill ask.” he said smiling before taking my hand and leading me to the next piece.

I tried to stay as late as I could. Mino was off somewhere talking art leaving me once again to be interrogated by my former classmates who all seemed to be very smug about the fact that I had yet to have an opening. It didn't matter what valid excuse I would give, they only cared that it hasn't happened yet. Thankfully I must have looked as uncomfortable as I felt since a hand wrapped around my arm to pull me back. I was just about to thank Mino for coming back and saving me when I turned to face Junmyeon.

“You didn't look too excited about that.” He said looking back over to the three girls who were all staring with confused and almost jealous looks in their eyes.

“Good to know it was obvious.” I said taking a sip of wine. Just as I was about to say something else Mino walked up.

“I think I'm going to head out. I have a pick up early in the morning.” I said, trying not to make it sound like I was at my ropes end with the girls who had added whispering to their staring. I smiled and quickly kissed Mino’s cheek softly before turning to Junmyeon and shaking his hand again, trying to do so without having to hear a protest from Mino.

The air outside sobered me up a little, and because of how nice it was outside I couldn't help but smile and start to walk down the sidewalk. Mino’s studio wasn't that far from mine, just a few blocks down and a horseshoe turn away, so I placed my hands in my coat pocket and began to walk. I let my eyes wander from the fashion that was passing me to the way the lights reflected off the puddles left from the rain that morning. Just as I was really starting to enjoy my walk the sky opened again, soft raindrops falling from the sky.

I sighed, of course this would happen. Clocking where I was I dipped into an alley, deciding the fastest way to get out of the rain in my heels would be to cut through the alleyways. Usually this idea was fine. I would maybe run into one or two strangers, but they were usually restaurant owners who were taking the trash out or sweeping their areas so the sound of voices deeper in the alley didn't really bother me.

“Kai come on! Oh my god no.” I heard a man laugh deeper into the darkness of the alley. But as I got closer to my studios back door I realized the figure I could hardly make out at first were men. Multiple men. Usually this wouldn't bother me but as I got closer the feeling of fear in the pit of my stomach started to deepen and deepen.

I took a deep breath when I started to pass them, my heart beating a million miles a minute while trying to keep a poker face to seem unphased so they wouldn't pay me any mind. Until they did.

“Hey wait!” I heard one of them call. I quicken my step slightly. Not to show I was scared, but just incase. “Wait, where are you going? I’ll walk you home.”

I looked up to see a half lit face walking backwards in front of me. I squinted slightly to try to get my eyes to adjust to what was under the ball cap he wore, but there was no use.

‘Shit’ I thought. I was staring too long. I looked away and quickened my step again.

“Oh come on! At least tell me your name!” He shouted after he stopped, his voice now behind me.

I was able to breathe again once my key was in my door, officially sure he stopped following me. But still the shape of the man's mouth was enough to stay in my brain as I flicked the lights to my gallery on and made my way upstairs to my bed.

___

“Mino I swear they were so scary.” I said pushing my denim painting shirt up past my elbows before wrapping my hands around the coffee cup that sat in front of me.

“I just don't understand why you didnt call a cab when you left.” He said sitting back in his chair, obviously taking it out on himself for not seeing me off safely.

“I just wanted to walk. I didn't plan on going through the alley.” I grumbled. I hated when Mino tried to school me. He was only a few months older than I was, and although I knew here it meant something different, he also knew that where I’m from it didn't.

“Do you at least remember what they looked like?” He asked, noticing my mood change.

“Um.. kind of. There were like five or six of them, but I only got a good look at one of them. He was a little taller than you, pillow lips… he was wearing a hat so I really didn't get a good look at his eyes. But he had to have been an athlete of some sort.” I said, my words getting quieter as I realized I would have had nothing to go off of if something bad had happened.

The coffee date ended with Mino once again scolding me, which I knew I deserved, but there was only so much I could take without pouting all the way home. I couldn't help thinking about the man in the hat. Why he was there in the alley with his friends. Why did he follow me, but then give up so easily? It's not like his friends were calling him back. If he was going to bother me in the first place, why give up? The more I thought about what had happened the more I worked myself up. They probably saw me unlock my door. What if they showed up in my studio? What if they came back with more people?

I half thought about texting Mino, but knew there was no point. He would be more worried about it than I was and he had better things to do then baby sit me in my own home. So instead, the moment I got inside I turned my windows down, making sure no one could see inside my studio incase they were passing to see if I was there. It was weird, though, this new set fear was enough to put me into overdrive. My inspiration hit me in my face and I couldn't pull a fresh canvas out fast enough to get the blurred images of last night down.

———

Music played loudly as I was lost in my own world. A galaxy of light and dark colors swirled and blended into one another across my canvas creating the confusing, but exciting pattern that seemed to get better with every stroke.

I was pulled out of my own head when the sound of someone's voice yelling over the music made me look up. I smiled to see Junmyeon and two other men trailing him into the room.

“Oh! One second please!” I said trying to press pause with the clean part of my palm. “Sorry, I didn't realize how loud that had gotten.” I said wiping my hand on my shirt before shaking Junmyeons hand.

“Its fine, good to see your working so hard because I brought with me two potential buyers.” He said gesturing to the two men on his left. “This is Byun Baekhyun and Kim Jongin.” He said.

I smiled shaking Baekhyun's hand, but the moment I met Jongin's eyes I felt my body stiffened slightly. He was familiar. Almost to familiar. I forced the feeling to be shaken off though, there was no reason why he would have possibly been brought into my studio if he had been hiding out in the alleyway behind the building the night before. Or at least I had hoped. But there was something about the way he smiled at me that made me feel like he knew it too. That he had seen me the night prior too.

I tried hard not to think about it. If Junmyeon was there, I was safe and if he was the man he probably wouldn't try to do anything with two other people there to witness. I turned my attention back to Junmyeon who asked if he could look through my paintings.

“Oh of course. And the racks on this back wall have more in it. I rotate them so the ones that are up are only there because they have a similar theme.” I said before trying to smile as normal as possible and turning back to my easel.

My drive was gone. I was too busy focusing on Jongin, who stood there supporting his chin in his hand as he listens to Junmyeon explain why he liked a certain piece. I took this opportunity to text Mino. Now if any would be a good time to alert him.

Mino, I think the guy from last night in the hat is in my studio with Junmyeon. I don't know what to do.

“Y/n, were looking to fill a room. Do you have any others with these same earthy tones?” Junmyeon said, pulling my attention away from my phone.

“Oh, yes. There over here.” I said smiling, slipping my phone into my back pocket before leading the men over to the opposite wall. I walked them through my color schemes, explaining to them the way I had everything organized just incase they changed their mind on a color or style they wanted. I was surprised Junmyeon and Baekhyun were able to distract me from the thoughts swirling in my head for the rest of the time they were there, but it helped that Jongin stayed behind us, obviously not trying to chime in.

“Y/n, thank you once again for taking us in on such short notice. We will take the one on the wall and the two that have been stored if they are not already spoken for.”  

“Of course, Ill wrap them for you so they’re ready to be taken.” I said turning to make a mental note as to which ones it was.

“Thank you again. We will be in touch.” He said, bowing his head slightly before taking my hand in a soft, yet firm hand shake.

“Thank you.” Baekhyun said sweetly as he took my hand next.

“Good to see you again. I hope to see you in the future as well” Jongin said with a small wink before taking my hand and giving it a firm shake.

The moment his hand touched mine my heart dropped. There couldn't be a way that was really him. The moment the door closed I reached for my phone again only to see Mino hadn't responded. It didn't stop me from quickly typing out another message, though.

It was him. It had to be him. Why else would he tell me it was good to see me again before winking if it wasn't him?

I looked up to see their backs bending one by one to get into the large black vehicle they came in, and once I was sure the door to the vehicle was closed and they weren't looking I quickly walked forward and locked the door again before backing up to my easel where I desperately tried to finish my work before deciding to just give up.

I couldn't focus. Not while finishing, not while making myself dinner, and not while I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep. I rolled to my side and reached for my phone. 3:00am. I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of my bed, taking my blanket with me and wrapping it tightly around my shoulders. I made your way up to the railing of my room slowly which allowed me look down onto my gallery. I wrapped the blanket closer over my shoulders before letting my elbows rest on the railing so I was more comfortably looking out the window. I smiled to myself finally feeling calm again. I loved how quiet the streets were at night. How all the colors of the lights around seemed to mix together on the rained on asphalt that laid below them.

It felt calm. But as my eyes were scanning I couldn't help but see two figures standing across the street. I squinted my eyes to try to catch a reflection of who the people were only to realize it was Jongin and Junmyeon. I stared at the two in shock as they talked across the road. They seemed to be laughing. I tried to calm myself down, telling myself they were probably just out getting drinks and just so happened to be standing across the street from my apartment. But then I remembered what the time was. I couldn't stop myself from panicking, and just as I was about to turn to hide myself, my eyes met with Jongin’s.

I didn't know it was possible for my heart to drop even further into my stomach as he gave me a devilish grin and wink. I scrambled back to my bedside table where I quickly reached for the remote that controls my space, knocking it off the table before I was able to press the button that made my windows go solid.  

Chapter 2

[shytiff]

Apr 2021 Wins

Started typing this on 4th apr lmaooo

1 - went to mcd. bought chicken + rice with the app promo. there’s a staff helping me on the order machine lol i feel badd there’s no need to do thatt. ate my lunchmade by mom at mcd’s muschola and went to sbux bcs its tumbler day. green tea latte w skim milk as usual. sent dr triya’s translation. ecmocard. started rereading goong (AGAIN. i probably have read it like 3 times minimum). still bring some feels

2 - its holiday today. spent almost the whole daylight rereading goong (turns out its pronounce ‘gung’ not ‘gong’ lol ive been wrong all this time) and finished it. the scene where they stare at each other, separated by the castle door, always gets me. got the old ipad charged (the screen are like 30% close to detaching and falling apart) and started AOT

3 - spent the whole day reading AOT. i like it when i have mini purposes in life (eg: finishing a manga series). AOT rly talks a lot about what do you want to do in life, the consequences of your choices and how you have to live with it. i felt triggered in a good way. the characters dont rly judge other’s choices, but they question them. discuss about it. give you some moral push. second gladi today. my vbg was still filpped hhhh. read aot until i felt sleepy and fell asleep. woke up very near subuh and prayed isya. my toxic trait is the horrible self care (and im talking bare minimum lol hehe lmao)

4 - finished aot. Asked irun about some aot explanations and she sent 5 paragraphs in one bubble. Slept. Flavola, kopsus coklat and somay. Also ate japota honey butter. Did 1 long input of ecmocard. Followed baepsae choreo. Moved my body a bit. Wow im not immediately sleeping. Amazing

5 - arrived at harkit 11-ish and went back about 1pm loll. super hungry when im arriving in kalideres. bought tahu colek worth 3000 (i wonder how the seller hears me through my 2 layers of mask), roti sisir and some ice cream in alfamidi. my fitlife protein powder ran out again. its my 2nd already. did some ecmocard, wasted my time after maghrib

6 - woke up late. did not have the mental strength to go to harkit so i decided to just stay home. bought sbux 1L green tea and macchiato. wasted the daylight and finally did some ecmocard in the evening,,,,

7 - off to harkit 7.30-ish pm in the rain. Took some data for ecmocard. Went to salemba to get tabung and surat bebas pustaka. Had breakfast slash lunch first, tried guudfuud (red rice, beef and omega egg). I like that the rice was not too much. Met up w ness ren and talked about isip dilemmas at sky. Afterwards went to flavola. Ordered mie rebus and roasted milk tea cause i somehow feel sooo hungry and in need of calories. It tasted so good, i was sitting in my usual seat facing the window, and the sky was a mixture of blue and grey. Brought croissant and sakura pocky at indomart. Ate the bread immediately after indomie. Went back home. Juan brought tahu gejrot that was delicious and crunchy. Internship files briefing by akis. Fell asleep

8 - woke up. Saw that dr retha was up for interview. Panicked. Thankfully it was at 12. I left home at 9:40 ish and arrived 11:50. Its a long ass way. Turns out i was interviewed with ka agassi. The doctors are so kind. They explained the gist of anesthesiology profession, and how its a choice you make, and its okay as long as you like what you do. Tried halo bowl for lunch. Sous vide chicken, rice, caesar sauce, beef bacon, and the deliciouss butter broccoli. Went back to kalideres and to starbucks. I only spent <2 hrs in there (a waste of money, i know). Bought decaf hazelnut latte (apparently the beans were kenyan something? Medium?) and butter croissant (need to cushion my stomach). Did GCP certification and sent it to the ever so kind mba Ai. Still got energy from the caffeine, did some ecmocard, read quran, read.... Toji fanfic 🤦‍♀️

9 - went to rsf w mom. We took the wrong way and had to take the long way but thank god theres still time to spare. Met dr rara. Some briefing. Went to rscm w agassi, submitted files for ijazah, went back to RSF. Girlll the cost of transport. MRT: 12K. Grab: 16-17k. Thats one way trip. Bought food at rsf canteen. Eocru briefing by the research coordinator. Ward tour w dr retha. Snacked on ovaltine provided by mba ai. Went home after maghrib by tj. Liqo along the way. Glad bersih (came late). Drank macchiato for some strength but still fell asleep quickly.i shouldnt have laid down

10 - kebakaran jenggot in the morning due to green screen positioning. Finally got the appropriate setup (after many fabric tries and cutting my mukena) at 08:30. Finished showering 08:45. Zoom was opened at 9 lmao. Somehow finished before 09:30. Zoompah w mom and dad along side me. After its ovee, some "photoshoot" w fam. At this point i was truly rly sleepy. Took of my makeup. Changed my clothes. And then racil silv dev showed up lol. I got gifts c: and then atikah came. And then i redid my makeup, this time with the help of friends to create fantastic eye make up look (which i can never pull off). Eyebrows by sil, eyeshadow and liner by cheldev lol. Took some photos. Dajen came. Talked. Videocalled w pupuy. A surprise gift from fianti came. And then chel dajen went back at 8. Still cant sleep. Slept at like 11-12

11 - lazed. Woke up, ate pizza (mom bought 2 of phd's 1m pizza) and bakwan, slept again. Matcha latte and ecmocard. Watched a bit of 2nd sinau

12 - off to rsf at 06:20. Arrived 07:15 ish. Lunch was ayam penyet accompanied by snacks that mba ai bought. Off to harkit at 14:05 (bcs my laptop somehow shut down and i lost all the unsubmitted data). And then off to kalideres at 15:30 ish to meet up w clara and search for clothes for almira's wedding. Went to lippo bcs clar saw this dress that kinda looks like the brokat given. We ate at ramen ya. It doesnt rly make you feel full, the filliny sensation was kinda like indomie. Saw that the dress looked different. Ate 1 boba pancake together at banban. Continued on to the tailor in kebon jeruk. The location was in an alley, and it was raining lol. Quoting clara: "the unnecessary struggles". The tailor was quite helpful (and she looks experienced). Arrived at clara's at 8 ish. Picked up by mom with car (it was raining) and arrived at abt 9. Hurriedly showered and tarawih and tidied up AND ITS ONLY 09:45. Its crazy how efficient one use time (and at the same time, how wasteful one can be)

13 - first day of fasting. The morning was spent taking samples. I stupidly took a sample thats not yet labeled im sorry :(((( i felt kinda tired and wanted to give up this. Give up anesthesia. Went back home at 14:00 and its cloudy. The bus was the nicer types and it was COLD. Read quran along the way. Picked up by juan. Opened laptop. And then its iftar time. I was sooo sleey and the tarawih was so long thst i closed my eyes along the way. Fianti called after tarawih, we talked til abt 21:30. And then i fell asleep

14 - went to rscm. Submitted serkom files. Met dr dyah and i hope we could somehow meet her again if we study in fkui again aamiin. Went to rsf by mrt. Arrived in lebak bulus just before it was raining. The bus took a while to arrive (usually theyre there, waiting). Its still raining like crazy so i took grabcar to AR from pesakih (39k). Played with my phone til iftar. Played phone again after tarawih and fell asleep

15 - i felt rlyy lazy and cant bring myself to wake up. Off to rsf at 07:15. There were coordinator ppl. Took sample. It was raining when i went back but i took grabbike from kalideres. Wasted my time and did not do ecmocard

16 - sampling. Snacked on keripik pisang at the room. Went back early at 13:15 ish. Picked up by juan. Sleeeept (and this is before the nightmareish mistake began)

17 - i did a mistake by telling dr retha (who took the sample today) the wrong patient (it switched in my unreliable memory. I feel terrible. Thank god shes quite chill abt it (?). Read jujutsu kaiseeen. Went to flavola. Did 1 ecmocard. Went to bandar jakarta baywalk by motorbike. Spent 135k and was quite full with many varieties. Arrived home at about 20:50. Turns out juan also had bukber with his friends. Phone call with fiiii, talked abt dimrob

18 - lazed all day, read jjk, finished my part of ecmocard (gave genky to ekal cause i was a dumbass at getting data). Ate mom's mentai rice, siomay. Drank green tea latte. Read jjk til 145 (mentok) at night. Proceeds to consume all things jjk lmaoo

19 - we took sooo long to get samples. Finished at 13:00. Went to rm with dr rara. Went back home. Watched the third sinau. Read the IMMACULATE jjk fics by celestialmechanics im IN LOVEEEE with the way s/he writes ughhhh

20 - samples took faster than usual. Mba ai did not came today. Went to RM and did some work there. Off to AR by 15:00. Arrived close to maghrib. Did not do any work afterwards lmao. Did not even wash my face

21 - magang as usual. Note to self: sit on the right side of the bus. Did nothing yesterday. Felt like shit after tarawih (but i showered before maghrib!!)

22 - todays problem was the swab sample not being there even though the staff allegedly already took it. Huft. Took a shower and out on vitacid (i cant remember the kast time i put on vitacid 😳 its probably been... a week or two?

23 - samples finished quite quickly. Already going home at 12. Lazedddd and lazed and lazed. Waited for emir to pick me up so i went to dm. Read an immaculate itadori x megumi fix thats just full of feels. Started demon slayer lets see

24 - literally just laid in bed reading manga and seeing tiktok and slept again and suddenly its 1 am. Showered. Still in a lazy mode. Havent begun clires work. Watched leah's vlog that said "go do things youve been putting off!". Finally finished the third and last video of Sinau Yuk ICU class with dr. Zeta, SpAn lolll even though the actual last class was on 7th apr. iftar was fish and chips and salad yuum

25 - woke up at like 1am since i slept too much yesterday. Ate tan ek tjoan bread and drank sbux matcha latte. Did some intern work. Read a bit of quran. Sahur. Cant even sleep again so i showered. Off with mom and dad (09:30) since dad’s going to get vaccinated at skk migas. Mom drove me to ara’s place (11:00). Talked a bit and even read quran again there. Off to GI (13:00) to meet up w regen. Walked around. Bought a discounted TBS green tea facial wash. Went back home by TJ (16:00). the bus station is a bit closer now. Arrived home close to maghrib (17:30). hurriedly showered and went to sleep (properly) after tarawih. A good good sleep since i got 9400 steps today and that tired me out lmaooo (bare minimum yall, i know). 

26 - woke up still sleepy. Slept again after iftar and woke up at 07:30. Skipped shower and off to RSF lmao. Went to medical record. Walked to the front of RSF originally planning to go to lebak bulus by angkot but i saw none. So i went through mrt instead. Stopped by at kebon jeruk and walked 800 meter (that tireeed me and made me feel parched under the sun) to risma busana for clothes fitting. Took gojek to jembatan gantung (turns out the closer halte to flyover was taman kota). Iftar was chicken noodle and risol and banana and i felt fullll and i slept

27 - today is off day since im alternating with agassi. read quran. watched shadow and bone (with 1,5x speed except for kanej and matthias nina scenes). didnt rly do any magang work except the table asked by dr retha. i feel like usually im operating on 70%. sleeping more doesnt rly add that. i need caffeine or physical activity. before i know it, its close to iftar.

28 - i ((felt)) like i had a decent amount of energy today. shouldve done some work between sahur and leaving the house but i ended up reading vampire knight lmaoooo the scenes had no business bringing so much butterflies. sampling together w agassi. mba ai didnt come in today. after agassi left did some magang work. i also went to RM to ask for more RM to bu dian. took angkot to lebak bulus for the first time. paid 5k. i had no idea which angkot went to lebak bulus and the driver (somehow knowing the right words to say) said “lebak bulus lebak bulus”. didnt read much quran on the way back. i just close my eyes and relaxed. felt kinda low on sugar. watched more shadow and bone on the way back and at home until close to iftar. didnt do anything after tarawih. slept hoping i woke up early (which i did, at 3am. but i slept again)

29 - im supposed to have ample energy but i just stuck around my bed until its time to get ready to go. read some kanej fic lol. I dont rly do anything productive after arriving home

30 - made intern log, magang as usual. Did not go to rm. Finished watching shadow and bone. Rested bcs tomorrow's saturdayyy

[aquietwritingcorner]

Mom’s Made Fullmetal Week 2020 Day 1

Word Count: 1983 Author: KatieAlly/RealityBreakGirl Rating: G Characters: Sheska, Kain Fuery, fan child Prompt: Family or Love or Baby-talk Summary: A quick snapshot into Sheska’s reaction to her first child, realizing the love and family that come with it, and expressing it to her baby.

 Family/Love/Baby-Talk

 “You’re almost there, honey! Come on!”

“Just one more big push, Mrs. Fuery. Its almost out.”

Sheska thrust her head back into the pillow, and braced her back against the bed, even as her feet pushed against the stirrups they were in. She was sweating, exhausted, in pain, and tired. She wasn’t sure how long she had been in here, in the process of birthing this baby, but it felt like days. Her energy was flagging, and she felt like she was giving every single bit of her energy and life to this. Kain was holding onto her hand, letting her squeeze it, offering reassurances and comforts, and generally being there for her during this process.

She let out another cry of pain and exertion as she gave one more big push, feeling something shift, something move, something tear, and then—

“It’s out!”

She collapsed back onto the bed then, exhausted. Kain let go of her hand after giving it a squeeze, eager to see their child.

“Congratulations. It’s a girl. Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?”

Sheska tuned out the world around her as she struggled to catch her breath. A girl. They had a baby girl! She wanted to see her, she wanted to hold her, she wanted to make sure that she was healthy and whole. She—

She felt another contraction. For a moment she panicked. Could this be an unknown twin thing? Like she read about in books and stories where the mother didn’t know she was having twins and had another baby? Sheska wasn’t sure she could go through another birthing process right now!

“Relax, Mrs. Fuery. It’s just the afterbirth. This shouldn’t take long.”

Apparently, she was easy to read to these doctors and nurses, and one soothed her fears right away. Fortunately, she was correct, and it didn’t take long for that process to finish. In that time, though, the nurses had gotten her daughter cleaned up, and had placed her, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, into Kain’s arms. He was looking down at their child with a look of awe and wonder and outright love like she had never seen him have before.

“Kain,” her voice was weak, rough, but it was enough to get his attention. “I want to see her.”

He crossed to her in mere seconds and was holding out the small pink bundle to her. Though weak and shaky from the birth, she held tightly onto their daughter and looked down at her. She hadn’t thought that she’d be able to love the child more then she had when it was growing within her, but as she looked down at their daughter, she realized how wrong that was.

A sense of love like she had never experienced before swept through her, growing and overwhelming Sheska. She felt herself tearing up as she cradled her baby close to her in exhausted, shaky arms, and felt Kain’s arms come around her to help her support their daughter. Pale skin, a slight dusting of dark hair, rosy lips, and the smallest little fingers she had ever seen.

She was beautiful.

Sheska felt Kain kiss her forehead, and she cried harder, overwhelmed by the love she was feeling, of the little family that they were, and she pressed her own kiss to the crown of her daughter’s head. “You are so loved by us,” she whispered out. “So very loved by your mom and dad.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Fuery? We need to take your daughter now,” a nurse interrupted the tender moment with a gentle voice. “We’ll give her a good cleaning and check her over. And we need to tend to Mrs. Fuery as well.”

The nurse reached down and gently took her daughter from her arms, which Sheska didn’t mind so much. Her arms were trembling, and she was feeling so very exhausted. The world around her seemed to be in a bit of a blur, and she tuned out the nurse’s words. She was still breathing hard, and was she supposed to feel this weak? The doctor was saying something now, but she let Kain handle it, not sure she could stay awake much longer anyway. There was the familiar touch of her husband, words she didn’t catch, and then a flurry of nurses and the doctor around her. She couldn’t stay awake any longer, and felt the exhaustion catching up to her, her last thought that they sure seemed to be making a fuss.

When she woke again, she was in a hospital room, on a very soft bed, with IVs running into arms. She couldn’t tell what time it was, or what was in those IVs without her glasses, but her hands automatically went to her stomach. Her much flatter stomach. And while she knew that she had given birth and had a baby girl, that made it more real to her sleep addled mind and she jerked awake.

“My baby. I want my baby. I want to see my daughter.”

Her words seemed to jolt awake a figure who was sleeping in the chair next to her bed. “Sheska?”

It was Kain. She couldn’t see him well without her glasses, but she knew his voice. “I want my daughter.” She was already moving, wincing at the pain that brought on, but determined to go find her baby.

Kain had other plans, shooting up to keep her in bed. “No, no, Sheska, stay in bed. I’ll call for a nurse, alright? They’ll bring her to us.” He handed her glasses to her, even as he made sure that she was laying back down. “Nurse!” he called out. “Nurse!”

A nurse came into the room within moments, quicker than Sheska expected, and seemed to look at her a little surprised. “Mrs. Fuery! Well, we didn’t expect you to be moving around yet.”

“I want my baby,” she said again, her voice firm, pushing. “I want my daughter.”

The nurse nodded as if understanding. “Of course. Let your husband get you back settled in bed, and I’ll go see about having her brought to you.”

For a moment, Sheska’s quiet stubbornness reared its head, and she didn’t want to do what this nurse said, she wanted to get up and find her child! But it only lasted a second, Kain’s gentle pressure to get her to lay down again and feeling her own weakness overruling it. “Fine.” She said reluctantly.

The nurse smiled at her, as if she were expecting this, and left the room. Sheska sighed, and finally looked around the room—and blinked in surprise. “Kain? What’s all of this?”

There were gifts, baskets, flowers, and balloons piled in one corner of the room, and looking like it had taken some very creative stacking to keep them contained. Some looked simple, some more extravagant, but they were there, nonetheless.

“Oh—those have all been brought by, by everyone,” he said, keeping a hold of her hands, and brushing her hair back. They’re all excited about the baby, and worried about you. They guys already took one load back to the apartment, and Hawkeye said that she and Gracia would try to get things set up for us.”

“Oh. Wait—worried about me? And why would they try to get things set up for us?”

She watched curiously as worry darkened her husband’s face, and he held her hand tighter. “The doctors said that the birth was really hard on you. They sent me out pretty quickly after our daughter was born. They said that you were really weak after it. They’ve giving you some blood to help, and they want to keep you here a week just to make sure that everything is alright.”

“Oh.” She took a minute to process that. “Hey, well, it’s alright. I’m still here, okay?”

Kain gave her a shaky smile. “Yeah. You are. And like I said, everyone was really worried. They wanted to see you, but you were sleeping and the doctors said not to disturb you. That was about a day ago. I’m sure in the morning we’ll have more people trying to drop by. In the meantime, though, they were way too eager to help, so I sent them to our home. They want you and the baby to have the best homecoming you can.”

The door opened then, and a small, warmed cart was wheeled in. Kain eagerly reached in it as soon as it stopped and pulled out the bundle that was their daughter. He held her tightly for a moment before passing her over to Sheska, who looked down at her with all that love and awe again.

“She should be getting hungry soon,” the nurse said. “Here, let me show you how to feed her.”

Within minutes Sheska was nursing her daughter, Kain looking at both of them in wonder, and Sheska looking at the overflowing pile of gifts in the room. She looked back down at the baby girl, and gently ran a hand over her head. “I was wrong earlier,” she said to her. “You’re not just loved by your mom and dad. It turns out, you’ve got an even bigger family that loves you too.” She bent her head down to kiss her daughter.

The love of their friends—their family—was overwhelming to her, and it remained so when she returned to there apartment the next week. She found herself in the gliding rocking chair—a gift from the investigations unit—holding their daughter to her again as she rocked her after feeding her. The baby looked up at her with eyes that were still blue, taking in everything that she could around her.

“My sweet girl,” Sheska was cooing. “My sweet Marcelina, my little Marcy. I love you. I love you and I always will. And your daddy loves you. He loves you and he always will. And you have so many aunts and uncles that love you too—much more then I ever thought possible, did you know that? Oh yes, there’s Uncle Vato, who brought you some wonderful books, and Uncle Jean who brought you the softest bear I’ve ever seen. Uncle Breda looked like he was afraid he was going to break you when he held you, but he promised to protect you. Uncle Roy was overjoyed to hold you, and he brought some very nice clothes for you. Aunt Riza was a natural and gave you this blanket that she made herself. And Aunt Rebecca gave mommy some stuff to help relax her after she stops nursing you.”

She smiled, thinking of the bottle of whisky Rebecca Catalina had given her. Part of it was gone as cups had been passed out in congratulations, although Sheska herself didn’t take part.

“And there’s Uncle Denny who helped put together all your furniture, and Aunt Maria who cooked some good meals for Mommy and Daddy. Aunt Gracia got all of your things organized for Mommy and Daddy, and cousin Elysia made you art for your wall. And then all of your Armstrong Aunts and Uncles bought all this nice furniture for you, and Uncle Alex said something about setting up a fund for your education. And your grandma and grandpa are on their way here now to see you and love on you.”

Sheska sighed and smiled. “Do you know how much you’re loved baby girl? Do you realize how big of a family you have? I didn’t know that people could be like this. It was just my mother and me when I was little. She would have loved you, my little Marcy. I know she would have. And I know that you’re going to be loved for the rest of your life. Because do you know who’s the most loved baby in all of the world? That’s right, it’s you! And it always will be!”

[for-peace-war]

art by @idrawbuffgirls​

This is the fourth hour-writing exercise I’ve done.  It depicts @diermina‘s Tsekani the Stygian and @iamreinhardt‘s Valenso the Zingaran.  As always, many thanks to Kelzack for depicting one of the awesome scenes!

THE GREAT WINGED ONE.

Follows Part I.

Follows Part II.

Follows Part III

Part IV.

TSEKANI THE STYGIAN sat still within the shadows of the silent ship as it swayed.   The Zingaran sailors had determined that a storm was upon the horizon, though the news came as nothing new to her at all.  She had known of the Storm, and all the smaller ones that came with it, for some time. That the mortal world was challenged eternally by fragmented elements of dying gods and their derelict domains was to be expected. After all, had not she and her companions escaped from one such challenge—and were they not inevitably heading into another?  

In the shadows, she was at home.  The ship was not at all like distant Luxor, and yet she found in some ways that it was inextricably connected to the temples from which she had come.  She was confined within a hostile place, with naught but herself to guide her free of the treasonous tides that flowed about her.  Sand or water, a person could be drowned if they did not mind where they were and what was taking them there.  The Stygian knew very well where she was going. She would never be taken unaware ever again, she swore.

There were secrets to be appreciated about the Pictlands, she knew—about all lands, if a person were willing to look beyond the thin skein of cultural disparities. To the rest of the world the Picts may have been the most savage creatures to exist: ravenous fiends, with less honor than even the Cimmerians, who fed upon their own young and slew each other in the darkest parts of the night. Whether or not that was true, Tsekani believed, it mattered little—each kingdom was fond of slaughtering its young, be it in a fruitless military campaign or under the oppressive heel of the powers that guided it.  And betraying their own?  Well, if the Picts were known for it, then they were merely the masters of a craft that all others struggled to reconcile with their own flawed truths.  Zaliki had always been fond of telling her that: “Any animal will eat its own tail when it is hungry,” her beloved mongrel had once said, “but the snake is given the benefit of a lovely sight in doing so.”

No blood, no agony.  The snake that consumed itself slipped from existence into nothingness.  In the darkness of the room, Tsekani understood well what nothingness was—knew that the swaying of the ship, that shifted those eldricht shadows about her, was as organic as the woman that sank deeper into their umbral glow.  Shar Negrath, the Sire of Ten-Thousand Thousand Scions, had informed her of that truth.  Nothingness was not the impurity in the world—it was the entirety of it.  Existence was an ephemeral step within an eternally darkening dance. All light, even that of Derketo, would fade with time.

But in the end, because of her lord’s grace, she would remain.

She would always remain.

The Stygian brought the tips of her fingers together and rubbed them sharply. Friction caused a faint scraping, and from that scraping two sparks flared, which caught against a wick and set to life in the midst of her shadows another flame.  It danced, coyly, upon the tallowed remnants of a basilisk.  The great beast from whence that rendered fat had come had sacrificed a great many things: scales for armor, teeth for weapons, even its eyes for an amulet—but it was its fat, so fine and difficult to acquire, that had been the truest gift.  Even lingering shades were forced to obey a light that came from it. The putridity of its scent was such that her nostrils flared and yet, she did not falter before it.

Ancient words—dark words—forbidden words fell past her lips as she chanted lowly. To any other it might have appeared that she spoke to herself, but the reverberations that thrummed through the air, as charged as the dampening sky, were a chorus that preceded all men and would speak to their end.  Her song continued as she moved bones from a sack beside her and emptied them into the bowl prepared for her the night’s divination.  Then, with a curved blade of Setite worship defiled in the dark passions of a priest’s unfulfilled lust, she carved a line down her hand, to intersect with another that was nearly healed upon her palm.  She watched as her skin unfastened inch by inch, until the raw flesh within whispered a caliginous hue that blinked from red to the darkest black.  Before it could share a droplet, she moved it over the bowl and squeezed her hand.  

A faint, hissing sound filled the air as the bones met with her blood.

Outside, the storm had finally arrived.  It rocked the ship with enough force for objects to rattle, but she remained still.  After bleeding herself upon the bones, Tsekani moved that hand to the candle and squeezed upon it.  Searing pain met her mind, far hotter than any candle should have offered. This was the moment of testing every time she communed with the darkness—the moment that spoke not to the physical world, but the spiritual one that devoured it even then.

Seconds passed in silent agony before, with a mind cleared by the pain she knew, she moved her hand over the bowl and opened it.  No longer did her blood drip a fine, black syrup to coat the bones.  Now, it was molten flame, that dripped against the hissing coils within the bowl.  They screamed as they were bathed in her flames.  She placed her hand over the bowl. The heat rose; the spirits within the bones surged beneath her grasp.

Then all was still.

Thunder crashed overhead.

When the Stygian opened her eyes, she looked at nothing save for the space where her hand had been.  It was a fleeting thing—it was always fleeting, but for a moment she could see the threads Beyond the Great Darkness.  Minds greater than her own had been cast into madness when glimpsing into the charred pitch of the world, but she knew better than to challenge what she saw—to assess it, to understand it.  That which lurked Beyond the Great Darkness was to be experienced and nothing more.

She basked in that experience.   She heard the cries of the heavens—felt the chills from brumal lands and smelled sulfur within the air.  The clash of steel—the ripping of flesh, the sundering of bone and stone and men’s wills. In an instant she experienced it all. With euphoric relief she exhaled a sigh in submission to the triumphant surge within her.

And then it was over.

She was alone once more.

The vision had brought her more of what was to come; more of what awaited the adventurers when they challenged the mountain and confronted the Cult of the Great Winged One.  Derketo, who spoke to her from within the polysemic brume of Shar Negrath’s melody with clear favor, had told her of the struggles that were coming.  She had told her of the losses that were approaching.

But she had not told her where she was.

No, only one person seemed to know that answer, and try though she might not to take umbrage with that truth, Tsekani found herself resenting the fact that the ship that bore her to where she was to go, was also the one that had seen Zaliki away from them—away from her.  That was the cruelty of fate, she knew.

It was a cruelty she was learning to appreciate with each passing night.

After collecting her reagents, the Stygian made her way to the deck of the ship.   The storm was not yet beyond them, but the winds blew without ferocity and the rain fell to little effect.  She pitched the bundle forth with the wind, and watched as its contents blew forward and then took off in the opposite direction, a shadow that swam upon itself and flapped murky wings to take it into the darkness above.  She looked down to her hand, coated in droplets of rain, and watched as slowly the flesh she had rent open was already mending itself together with the careful, deliberate passing of needles against fabric.  In two days there would be nothing to remind her of the moment but for the experience she had known.

And by then, she would have seen something else to take her further away from the pain.

At the railing of the ship, a lean figure leaned in place where no man should have stood. Valenso the Zingaran, captain of the ship, was a singular man in many ways—finer in attire than most, swifter with his words than any she knew, and given to a confidence that denied even the jaws of a dragon should it seek his swarthy flesh.  But the man that stood against the railing in the midst of the storm wore no fine clothing, spoke not a word, and possessed eyes that held no vigor of their own.

“Valenso,” the Stygian sorceress said.  He did not look toward her.  “You are well?”

The Zingaran was quiet as he watched the dark waters over the side of the ship.  She touched him with her blessed hand—he had soaked through, and the sinew beneath his white blouse was clammy and cold.

“I had the dream again,” he said.  Off further in the distance, where the shadows met with land, Pictlands yet awaited them—hungering for blood, even if partially sated by that offering which had found them in Caethe’s wake. When he had come back aboard the ship with their companion, Valenso was every bit the man she believed him to be.

But now? He was something else—he was real.

“The dream of the mariner?”

“The Nordheimer witch,” he said.  The first time she had heard the tale, he had been wet from the sweat of his bed and inconsolable.  His skin, naturally duskened, had even taken on a pale hue for the effort of escaping whatever nightmares rode behind his eyes.  “I was powerless to stop him.  As ever.”

Could powerlessness truly be so frightening, she wondered?  They had all found themselves staked to a cross at one time—left to the winds and the wild animals that would feast on whatever remained of them. There had been no power then.  But they had survived it.

“Do you know this man’s face? His name?”

“No,” the Zingaran said, quietly.  The rain did not swallow his voice, though it did beat rapidly against the railing he leaned upon. “He is of the sea, that much I know.  When I cut him, he bleeds the darkness of the depths.  His skin is blue; his eyes are like foam.  Coral and kelp make up his bones; his flesh.  And his heart… his heart is not like any I have seen.”

To some extent, she wished that she could reassure him—offer him the assistance he needed to overcome the horrors that only a man of power could know.  But the chains that bound him were chains made of a man’s pride, and though he was someone that she trusted to die for her if needs must merit it—as she, perhaps might for him—there was no affection that swelled in her heart then.  He held the one secret she did not know, after all.

“Do you see Zaliki in your dreams?”

Her question surprised her as much as it did him.  When she asked it, he slowly rocked back and looked at her.  Electricity flashing overhead carved delicate peals of light that revealed the sunken nature of his eyes—the shallowness of his cheeks in that moment.  In so many ways, the man before her was a skeleton.  Did he knew that yet? Did any of them?

Tsekani held no mystery as to how men viewed her.  She was beautiful—crafted in Derketo’s image, with the figure of a temptress and the mind of a scholar.  Her body was a series of desirable curves, leaving her in any set of robes as a delicate, silken promise that but needed to be unwrapped—with hand or blade, to be enjoyed as only a man’s carnality might know.  The rain had seen those silken robes become translucent, casting the mystery of her figure to the same winds that she had thrown the shards of her divination.

But the hand that moved to her face; the hand that touched her cheek, was burdened with the warmth of a life lived and an absence of the desire for satiety that her body should have awakened in the man. He patted it tenderly and smiled.  “Not anymore, my friend.  Let us hope she has found a better place to be than that, yes?”

And so he left her—he left her, who commanded the Darkness that Birthed Darkness, and caused her to feel how powerless she was to stop him from doing so. She had the means to draw any word from him she wished to, but she could not.  To do so would have been to betray the secret that he had promised never to share—a secret, she realized, that was meant as much for her to keep as him.

“You should sleep,” Valenso called over his shoulder.  He lifted a hand and offered a parting wave as light flashed and caused the jewels upon it to glisten in its wake. “Tomorrow, our quest begins.”

The fine make of his shoes marked his escape from the deck.  Tsekani watched him fade into nothingness and then turned to look over the railing where he had been.  Deeper within the water; darker than he could have seen, were eyes that looked back up at her.  They were eyes that had seen into her eyes, when she gazed into that Beyond the Great Darkness.

“It truly is a lovely sight, Zaliki,” the Stygian said.

The ship swayed in the passing storm, but she did not.

[whumptasticwednesday]

The Mind Of A Mutt (Hunger Games - Mockingjay)

Alright guys, As promised, Whumptastic Wednesday has returned. 

Just some background, this fanfic takes place during Mocking Jay Part One. I do reference some stuff from the books that weren't in the movie, so if you haven't read the books and you are confused, then read the damn books because they are incredible (AND VERY WHUMPY!!!) That’s all for now. Please enjoy, and don’t forget to give me some feedback. I would love to know what you guys think. 

-Jimmy

Word Count- 2,299

Warings- violence 

The cold floor of the cell sends goosebumps crawling up my arms. My hairs stand on edge, and every couple seconds my whole body twitches. The tracker jacker venom runs thick through my veins from the last "session." That's what they call them: President Snow and his team of doctors and nurses. Their only objective is to keep me alive long enough to torture me, to damage my brain and fill my head with artificial memories meant to brake me. Day in and day out, they show me pictures of Katniss, her voice rings through my head as they beat me. I have violent hallucinations of her doing unspeakable things to me. I feel every second of it. Why can't they kill me? Send my conscious mind into a desolate never-ending state of nothingness, because that's too easy. Nothing in the capital is easy. That's why twenty-four kids are sent to the Hunger Games every year. Because somewhere in Snow's sick distorted perception of reality, watching kids slaughter each other and celebrating the victors whos lives will be forever plagued with nightmares and flashbacks, is the only way to keep the districts in line. The only way to hold off the rebellion. Well, not anymore.

Katniss is the rebellion, the Mockingjay, and President Coin has got her. She's the reason I'm tortured in a cell in the capital. Katniss is the rebellions weapon, and I'm the capitals weapon. The only difference is never-ending suffering experienced by those saved by the capital. They are turning me into a Mutt, wearing me down little by little till I snap. Until my mind reaches depths of madness incomprehensible by a sain human. This issue is, it's working. Every day I feel my self becoming angrier and angrier. With every injection, every beating, every drop of my blood spilt, my anger grows. I can feel it festering in the back of my mind.

I try to sit up, but my arms feel week and numb. My vision begins to look fuzzy, and my eyelids feel heavy. The black polished shoes of President Snow standing in front of me is the last thing I can remember before I finally let my eye's close. In seconds I'm overtaken by sleep.

I inhale sharply as my eye's shoot open. Where am I? How long was I out? My breathing quickens as I try to move. My arms and legs are strapped into a chair. My heart begins to rase in my chest as I thrash violently, trying to escape.

"Don't struggle," I shoot my head up. President Snow is standing in front of me, two doctors wearing all white at his side. "You will only make it worse."

I grit my teeth. I've been here before. I know what's going to happen. I'm so tired, so fucking tired.

"Please." I plea, hot tears well up in my eyes. "Please, not again. I can't take this anymore." My voice cracks as I look up at President Snow. His cold face is unnerving. His dead stare sends a shiver down my spine. He nods, signaling to the doctors that its time. The doctors in their clean white coats approach me. I close my eye's, hoping that maybe if I think hard enough, this might all have just been a bad dream. I could wake up in a cold sweat, next to Katniss in our house in the victor's village. We could spend the morning talking about my nightmare like we always do when one of us has a distressing dream.

The prick of the IV being inserted into my arms knocks me back to reality. Reminds me that I'm not in my bed, I'm strapped to a chair in the capital, and I'm definitely not dreaming. I hold my breath as a cold liquid fills my veins. Suddenly my head feels like it's a thousand pounds. I let gravity do the work as my head goes limp against my chest. All at once, my ears begin to ring, louder, and louder, and louder. I squeeze my eyes shut. I think my eardrums might burst. I bring my knees to my chest and my hands to my ears, my throat letting out a blood-curdling scream. As abruptly as it began, it was over. Replaced with a silence that's equally as uncomfortable. I open my eyes, my arms and legs are free, I'm not in the capital anymore, I'm in the cave, from the first games. I prop my self up on my elbows; I look down, my wound is as bad as ever. Blood and pus seep out of the jagged cut — my whole body aches. Sweat drips down my face, and I have to bite my lip to stop from screaming.

"K-Katness," I pant, the pain is worse than the first time I experienced it. "Katn-ness, p-p-please!" I call out, where is she? Why isn't she here with me? Abruptly she appears beside me.

"I've brought you a treat. I found a patch of berries a little farther downstream" she says, brushing the hair from out of my face. Not again, I am not falling for this trick again. Katniss brings a spoonful of the mashed berries up to my mouth. This time they look different. Not red, and they don't smell like the sleeping syrup my mom used to give me. The mash is jet black. NightLock. Katniss is trying to kill me. I back away, dragging the lower half of my body with my arms. A malignant smile creeps onto Katness' face as she traps my neck under her arm. I choke and scream, trying to kick her off of me.

"Shhhhhhh, it will be over before you know it," She whispers, prying my jaw open like its nothing. I cringe as the sour taste of the nightlock berries hit my tongue. I heave as Katniss lifts her arm from off my throat. My relief is short-lived as she instantaneously clamps her hand over my mouth and plugs my nose. "This doesn't have to be difficult. One swallow. One swallow and all this pain will be over."

Nightlock, dead before it even hits your stomach, I remember. I fight underneath her. My lungs burn; they are screaming at me for oxygen. Black spots start the cloud my vision. I'm going to die. Whether that's from asphyxiation, or nightlock was my choice. I finally give in. My throat burns as I swallow. Katniss releases her hands from over my mouse and nose, and I gag and choke. My limbs start to feel heavy; the world around me begins to spin. I can see Katniss mouthing words to me. Why can't I hear her? I can feel her brush my hair out of my face. The pain I once felt begins to splinter away into a raw numbness. Soon the only thing I can discern is my heartbeat. Slow and unnatural. Like the heartbeat of a mutt.

Catching me off guard, the pounding in my ears begins to quicken. As I come back to my senses, I can hear my self gasping for breath. My vision returns soon after my hearing. I see the world speeding past me. More specifically, I see trees speeding past as I sprint through the forest. I feel like I'm not in control of my body. My lungs are on fire, and my muscles feel like they are threatening to snap. But I keep running. Suddenly my head shoots backward, and I know all too well what I'm running from. Mutts. A huge wolf-like creature is sprinting close behind me. But there is something different. I remember the mutts who chased after me in the first games. How could I forget? But this wolf was different, but at the same time... familiar. The smooth brown coat and piercing stern green eyes were all I had to see. This mutt was Katniss. Similar to the wolfs the capital made from the dead tributes in the first games. Katniss was hunting me. And I bet anything, that one stumble, and she wouldn't hesitate to rip me limb from limb. The forest floor becomes a minefield of sticks, rocks, and other things I can't identify given my current situation, but would undoubtedly lead to my inevitable demise if I were unable to avoid them. I feel in control of my body again. The first thing I notice is that the adrenaline that kept me running fast enough to stay ahead of the mutt has warn off. I'm starting to fall behind. Humans weren't built for this kind of physical exertion — my whole body cramps with every wheeze of my exasperated lungs. I feel my eyes begin to roll back into my head. My brain feels like static. Any minute my body is going betray me. I'm knocked back to reality as my foot gets caught on a rock, sending me tumbling down the steep hill. A scream tears through me as the mutt's teeth sink into my leg, dragging me down the hill. Blood smears the dirt behind me as the wolf finally slows down, stopping in the middle of the forest. Pained sobs erupt from deep within my chest. I scream through clenched teeth as the mutt's jaw opens, releasing teeth that were buried deep within my leg. Without warning, it lunges at me, teeth showing, ropes of drool cascading down its chin. I hear a sickening crunch as it jumps on me with all its weight. Hot tears spill down my cheeks as blood bubbles up my throat, leaking out my mouth. I kick and thrash, trying to release my self from under its weight, but I'm too weak. It snarls and snaps at me. I put up my arms in defense, trying to cover my face. Within minutes, my arms are a blood bath. Full of bite marks and cuts. I wail as the rabid dog rips me to pieces. I begin to lose feeling in my limbs, and my vision starts wavering in and out. I'm too weak to defend my self. Deep lacerations scatter my body. It's Tearing into me like I'm nothing but it's next meal. All the while, I stare into its eyes. Katniss' eyes. I feel my mind begin to deteriorate. Please end this. Please end me. I can't take this anymore. My body slowly slips into an empty numbness; this feeling isn't new. This is how most of my hallucinations end, with a numb body and a broken mind. My vision abandoned me a long while ago. Leaving me alone with my thoughts. It's hard to describe how I feel in these moments. When my body is numb and my brain has shut off anyway for me to identify where I am or what's going to happen next. My mind is in such a drug-induced haze; it's forgotten how to perceive the world around me. My eye suddenly shift as sporadic visions of Katniss and Gale flash into my brain. No, please, no. Like my own private movie under my eyelids, I watch Katniss and Gale laughing and smiling as they touch each other in a lust-filled haze. Please make it stop. Every touch, every kiss, fuels a fire buried deep within me. I can feel jealousy brewing in the pit of my stomach. This isn't real. I try to distract my mind, but the hallucinations win every time. I can't stop them. They start to get faster, flashing in and out of my mind like strobe lights. I see visions of my mom, of my family. Of the bombing of District Twelve. I watch as bombs rip them apart — peacekeepers making sure to put a bullet in the heads of anyone who survived the initial explosion. I feel sick to my stomach. My brain is moving at a mile a minute. This isn't real. I repeat it over and over in my mind. Start simple; start with what you know is true. My name is Peeta Malark. My home is District Twelve. I was in the Hunger Games. Katniss was saved. I was left behind.

My eye's open. Fluorescent lights blind me. Where am I. My arms and legs aren't strapped down? I look down; I'm wearing a clean white hospital gown. I look up. A group of people wearing gray jumpsuits are conversing around a clipboard. District thirteen is written on the back. I'm not in the capital anymore. They saved me.

"Should we bring her in?"

Their voices are muffled; I can almost make out what they're saying.

"Are you sure he's ready?"

My head begins to pound, and I lay back down on the bed. Coving my eye's with my hands, taking deep breaths. I'm processing a lot right now. I feel adrift of cool air as the door to the room opens. Looking up, suddenly im staring into those familiar green eye's. I feel my chest begin to swell with anger. My mind flashes back to everything that happened to me in the capital. All the pain I endured. All that emotion, all that damage, it's all because of Katniss. I looked into her eye's as she stabbed me, kicked me, mauled me, drugged me, burned me, killed me. I let my anger control me as I lurch forward, grabbing her by the neck and slamming her down onto the porcelain floor. The look of shock and horror spreading across her face only makes my desire to watch the life drain from her powerless body grow. Hot tears stream down my face. I don't want to kill her. But the resentment I feel needs an outlet. I don't know how to stop it. The need to strangle her feels compulsive. Just a side-effect of a damaged mind. The mind of the capitals weapon. The mind of a Mutt.

[famiina]

Sweet beginnings !

So here's my birth story which I have been wanting to write for so long but never tried to..

I am an amateur blogger and this is my first blog ever. So kindly bear with me. Grab a bite, sit back and have a good read.. :)

Like every other girl, I was always scared of the labour process ever since I was told stories about it from the women who experienced it. I had no idea how my body would react under extreme pain and pressure. But still I preferred a normal delivery over C-section because of the post natal health benefits associated with it. So I started to gather knowledge about the latest pain relief methods from my friends who just delivered lately. From them, I got to know about epidural. I had my pregnancy check ups in Chennai until 8 months. In November 2017, I moved to my mom's place where I was supposed to deliver my first child. My mom, through her contacts,had chosen a doctor who was known for her excellency in gynecology. I was totally blank about how I would cope up with the new doctor as I did not have enough time to build a good rapport with her. But she seemed to be skilled and experienced. So I left the rest to the Almighty and was enjoying the last month of pregnancy with mom. 

In the hospital, there were too many posters all over about painless delivery and epidurals. Whenever I went for check ups, it caught my attention but I did not bother to talk about it to my doctor as I know I will have enough time and will be given a chance to know what options are available for pain management and which one I can opt for once my contractions start. 

Meanwhile, I read about epidural,the effects of it and disadvantages which gave me a better idea and I got convinced that it was worth a try.

I had a healthy pregnancy. I made sure I was at peace, avoided stress, ate healthy, satisfied my cravings and did things I wanted to without hesitation. I was even driving on my own until 8 months inspite of the traffic in Chennai though few of my family members felt it was risky. So I had positive vibrations that my baby will come through happily on earth from the heavens :) My due date was given on December 15th 2017 but I did not feel anything until 9th. I went for my regular check up and doctor asked me to come on 14th to induce pain if the contractions do not start on its own. 

On the night of 9th, I felt unusual and took trips to the loo every now and then. 

Early in the morning, I spotted blood with mucus that is when I informed mom about it. She had the hospital kit packed way earlier. After informing my husband over the phone, mom and I started to the hospital as early as we could. Contractions started lighter and were in the interval of 20 to 25 mins. Around 8 am, I was taken to the labour room. The duty doctor did an internal examination and said my water hasn't broken yet. I was given IV and shifted to room. By then, all of my relatives had arrived and they were excited enough awaiting the good news. Contractions started developing and I had the sensation of vomiting whenever a contraction came. Mean while, my husband and mom asked me if I am sure of handling the labour pain. And I decided to go for an epidural as I did not want to take any chances because I had no idea about the intensity of pain that would come after. One good reason that I chose epidural was that I wanted to actively participate in the birth process instead of lying down on the table unconscious and unbearable of the pain that will take over everything else. By the time the epidural was administered, I had severe contractions in frequent intervals. I was taken to the labour room after that. In sometime, my water broke with full force but from the faces around, I could realize something wasn't right. There was meconium(baby's first poop) in the amniotic fluid. Since I was given epidural, doc wanted to wait for few more hours to see how I am progressing. Epidural started working slowly and I felt lesser pain in the lower part of my body. My contractions were coming every 1 min and I felt like pushing. The nurses told me not to but it was out of control so I kept on pushing with all my strength.

There was this junior nurse who stood by my side throughout pacifying me that it's going to be alright soon. I held her hands tightly as if I had known her for a long time and felt much better that I had a support system. Almost squeezed her hands when I got contractions now and then. 

Hours went by and he wasn't ready to come yet. I had the NST(Non Stress Test) belt wrapped around my tummy to check the baby's heart beat, Blood pressure equipment attached and epidural catheter at the back. I  wasn't allowed to lie on sides as the baby's heart rate will slow down. I was exhausted with everything going on. Mom and mother in law were allowed inside twice to come in and see me for mental support. Mom couldn't hold back her tears seeing me struggling and pushing harder. 

At around 5 am, the chief doctor was expected to arrive as I was nearing the climax. The nurses were asked to keep things ready to welcome the baby. She arrived and told me to give a push with all my strength. I did but no luck because the baby's head was estimated to be larger than the normal, thanks to the scan reports. My anesthetist sat on the bed near me and pushed with all the force but still he dint show up. Finally the doctor decided to do it using forceps.

For one last time, I cried out and pushed, the nurse pushed, the doctor took his head out using forceps and there he was! Descending down on earth like an angel.! My precious little baby boy weighing 4.2 kgs at the time of birth! 

That was it ! 

That was one unforgettable, life changing moment for me!!

That was the moment I felt proud of myself in delivering a little human !!!

Everyone else including the doctor was shell shocked and surprised because we weren't expecting him to be bigger. 

I do not know how it would have been possible delivering a bigger baby without epidural. The baby was monitored in ICU for a day in the event of fetal distress! There were mixed comments from my circle saying it wasn't right to have waited for so long as the baby would have had distress due to meconium released inside. The other side saying it would have ended up in C-section if not the choice of epidural was opted. 

All I knew was that the doctor was skilled enough to assess all of it and take a risk and was experienced in doing a forceps delivery. 

Above all of it, Allah, the Almighty decided it to happen this way against all odds! 

When Umar was born, the mother in me was born too!

Here we are, mother and baby hale and healthy, my little cub exploring life in his very own way! It surely is a life altering experience for every woman irrespective of what type of delivery she goes through! 

So let us stop judging, respect every mother's decision and celebrate them every day! ️:)

One is not born, but rather becomes, a woman !

More power to all the women ! :)

[scarletrebel]

⭐star⭐ waffle at me about your favourite lines youve written

ohhh friend you have opened a pandoras box and i hope you are ready also thank you aha

so i started…….. picking some lines and made the Executive Decision to just do one fic because i was planning on doing a couple from a handful of fics but turns out im far too prone to waffling about this kind of stuff because i love picking things apart and figuring out why they work because i love fuckign words and the things they evoke and stuff so yeah this is just some fave lines from most recent fic, requital. 

this was part of a ‘directors cut’ writer thing and if anyone has any more prompts, feel more than free to send them my way! 

Requital, Chp. 1: 

His honesty, wrapped tightly underneath a chivalrous act; a throwaway comment to soften the exposure of such a question, draws her closer.

She kisses him, and hopes that even though the motion is countless in the amount of times they’ve come together, that the answer is plain enough. A claim, she hears her own words in her head, tasting the tobacco of his morning cigarette on her tongue, the warmth of the pull at his hands on her hips.

so whilst i cant say this section was directly inspired by the ecdysis book, what i can say is that there is definitely some influence going on here, in particular these two lines from the page ‘synesthesia’:

“Wu Ming is a bonfire in the darkness, and she crawls toward his warmth.”

“Wu Ming leaves his questions by the wayside as he is drawn inexorably into the gravity well of her desperate honesty.” 

and thats not something i realised until i was writing the final draft, and im pretty pleased with myself considering not only is requital going to examine some of the similarities between avia and drifter, but also the fact that ecdysis is probably my favourite book. i mean…… ‘drawn inexorably into the gravity well of her desperate honesty’ what the FUCK KIND OF LINE its gorgeous i cant deal with it or this book or this page or how desperately gorgeous the tragedy of drifter and orins relationship is 

also…… look. im a hopeless romantic. always have been, probs always will be, so when i say avia and rook are soulmates i mean it in the cheesiest way possible. right before this is rook feeling a bit self-conscious about the whole awoken engaging thing, and theres no way avia can actually put into words how irrevocably in love she is with rook. so she kisses him, and hopes beyond hope that she can put those feelings into motions if not words. i also enjoy the small bit of possessiveness that came out of her too, because the whole ‘claim’ thing with the awoken was there since the first draft but this section came in the final edit, she thinks of it so casually but when she goes on to say that she’d actually duel anyone who came between them i…….. would not put it past her to be 100% down to do that. 

rook isnt a bonfire in the darkness, he’s an anchor in the deep, a solid tether when the sea becomes a storm. 

(ayyy where the FUCK WAS THAT WHEN I WAS WRITING THIS) 

Requital Chp. 2:

Here’s the thing, if you’ve gone through the trouble of decrypting this (a fortified certain-eyes-only encryption that took me a couple of hundred years to perfect, thank you very much), it at least means you’re interested, so hear me out.

i like this line a lot, for a few reasons. drifter knows avia well enough at this point to be well acquainted with her temper and lack of time for dealing with his nonsense. it’s the first flick of the coin between the two of them, drifter laying the proverbial gauntlet down and at the end of the day, its up to her whether or not she picks it up. 

and she does, avia asks levi to decrypt it, and the first thing she sees is drifter acknowledging that shes done so and asking her to at least hear him out. he’s kind of caught her out, and she can respect that even if thats not at the forefront of her mind. avia also has her own brand of curiosity when it comes to people like the drifter, so this is kind of the first inkling of that. and it also (i hope) makes you wonder if drifter is aware of that curiosity that she has, if he sent the message decrypted on purpose to get her interested. 

She smiles at the note, throws her legs over the bed and stretches around a yawn. Five minutes later, Levi puts her in her armour.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stick around?” The Ghost asks. “We don’t have anything urgent to do. There’s breakfast here.”

Avia hums, considering. She moves into the kitchen, glances over the fridge, the cupboards. She looks then onto the sofa, the sprawled pillows, untidy blankets. Suddenly the armour on her body feels heavy, out of place, like the metal has no right being somewhere like this.

“No. I’m not hungry, let’s go.”

“Okay,” Levi says in that tone of voice that lets her know they aren’t buying it. “Should we walk, or transmat?”

Avia notices the balcony door is still open. She walks over and closes it, the streets barely alive as one or two civilians walk to and fro, glancing idly at each other as they pass. “Transmat.”

avia immediately makes an comment about being all domestic with rook in chapter 1. its just not something that suits her in her own mind, and that line (even though i havent waffled about it bc dear god theres too much here already) was something i immediately knew i wanted if i was going to write a day of domestic bliss with her and her fiance, because i knew it’d be a hard thing for her to just get on with like a normal person aha. 

so, we get this part in chapter 2. the domestic bliss is over, and what avia knows best, what shes always known best, is a set of armour and getting back to work. however this part of herself contradicts that which she’s experienced for the past day, and especially the line ‘Suddenly the armour on her body feels heavy, out of place, like the metal has no right being somewhere like this.’ i put in to really reinforce that idea. its not the metal that feels out of place in this scene, its the person in the metal. and her eagerness to transmat straight to the tower rather than walk through the peaceful city streets shows her tendency to run from such thoughts.

this part came really naturally, actually. its a small snapshot into a bigger struggle avia has with herself (especially given the dreaming city, the reef, petra and now potentially going back to the worst part of the shore with drifter) of where she belongs, and more importantly, if she deserves to belong. which is why levi talks to her in that tone because they know what shes doing, theyve seen it so many times before – avia in a scenario that resembles something normal and running from it with no one around to stop her, because in her subconscious she doesnt believe she deserves it. 

“Ada-1, I believe, has fully settled into the Tower. She becomes more and more tolerable of the Guardians by the day. And with the discovery of Niobe labs, her mood has been favourable.”

i had no idea how fun scarlet was to write until i got to this part. she almost has her own language, really. writing ‘im really proud of ada because i spent all morning with her and she was only snippy with like two guardians and shes been really uplifted and im really happy for her since they found niobe labs’ in scarlets own ‘okay but heres the relevant information’ way of explaining things is a challenge but FUN. like, really fun?? 

because scarlet wouldnt be mentioning adas mood if she didnt care, ya know? and its not that she cant say that longer thing about being proud and stuff, its just that she doesnt see the sense in it and its not important information. like, if avia and eden were to spend a dedicated amount of time whittling her down she would absolutely say ‘i am so proud of ada and also i wanna smooch her face how do i do that as an exo’ but its just not a thing for her. but part of the reason why ada and scarlet being together was an idea that i had was because i imagine that line of thinking probably suits ada. 

“It was at Ada’s request. I had more knowledge of the area in its current state, and felt more comfortable talking to Ikora and her Hidden agents than Ada did…”

supportive exo girlfriends. that is all. man ive gotta write more about these two

“Hmm,” Ada wears a concerned stare masked behind a formal rigidity that Avia knows her Warlock teammate best for.

if im being honest, i just really enjoy this line. i imagine its hard for exos to show concern, esp a character like ada and my girl scarlet, so avia has spent a lot of time dissecting certain facial cues and yeah im proud of how this description came out aha

…as if she hadn’t spent the past few months clipping sidelong comments and threatening him when his Gambit veered out of the realm of her control.

avia is a control freak. plain and simple, and i wanted to make that as obvious as possible considering this sentence is only a few away from avia choosing to go and talk to drifter. 

there’s a certain amount of ‘i need to understand this thing that i have limited knowledge on so i can predict/control/plan for it in the future’ in how avia views drifter in general, its a kind-of warlock way of thinking about things but the big difference is avias need for control in these situations is a) selfish and b) only applies to things that she knows she has a good chance of understanding/taming. shes not going around learning about the hive because she has a good understanding that thats a cosmic threat that can only be defended against until it comes. drifter on the other hand is on her doorstep.

i also really loved the contradiction in putting ‘gambit’ and ‘control’ next to each other in a sentence, i kinda hoped it showed how conflicted avia is about going and talking to drifter, and maybe even how naive it is of her to think that it could turn out okay. 

She was incensed, maybe, at the way he spoke to Ada, needed to go and stomp the idea out of his head but he got her talking, like he does

i like this line bc its avia acknowledging that she knows how shes viewed. she knows everyone sees her as a hot-head, she knows her anger veers away from her sometimes and whilst she’s gotten better at getting a handle on it, it’s still an aspect of her that people who dont know her well enough find it hard to get past. 

i also enjoy how new people to this fic/avia in general might not know that this is a big part of her? so she’s trying to use it as an excuse, ‘well no one can blame me if i say i got really mad because thats what i do’ and it (hopefully) tells new people about that aspect of her character without having to show the worst part of it, the convo with ada being an introduction to it i guess – especially since the past few scenes have seen her a lot softer than im used to writing aha. 

“Dammit,” she mutters under her breath. And walks towards the Drifter before she can make a better decision

fun fact – this line was originally ‘and walks down the corridor before she can make a better decision.’ 

i changed it because i wanted to make it more obvious that avia is making a conscious decision to choose drifter, that she’s walking towards a path that she knows is not a good idea. it provides foreshadowing for the allegiance quest and referring to him as ‘The Drifter’ cements it as an idea that she’s walking towards and not necessarily a person.