#feeling like i need to constantly produce in order to keep peoples attention is exhausting is all

[mildmayfoxe]

i was gonna make a maudlin post about blah blah blah “no one wants to hear me wax pathetic but” but the bigcartel app page was so stupid it took me out of it. i’m gonna go finish my book peace out

[lavendersuh]

jaemin x reader | 70′s roller rink au | fluff | 2.8k words 

part of @nct-writers neo’clock event! 

warnings: none

summary: its the era of disco balls and groovy tunes, and you love working at your local roller skating rink. if only na jaemin wasn’t there to annoy you all the time.

note: hi friends!! i recently started roller skating this summer and it’s been so fun!! i finally was able to go to a roller rink (i masked up i promise!) but i wrote this beforehand while i was yearning to go haha. it was so fun and skating makes me so happy. i don’t think i’ve seen many roller skating aus so i hope you all enjoy!!

“Hey! Will you stop going the wrong way? I have kids learning to skate and you’re getting in their way!” 

You huff out a heavy breath from your exercise. It’s always tiring to teach young kids to roller skate, but you enjoy the smiles it brought to their faces. One day soon they would be able to easily join the adults that waltzed across the shiny wooden floors. 

Your job at the local roller rink is perfect. You love the smoky atmosphere and the big disco ball. You love hearing the latest groovy songs play over the speakers. You love being able to zoom around in your favorite bell bottom jeans and best pair of skates. 

What you don’t enjoy is annoying boys that obnoxiously skate around the rink. 

You look back at the boy in question. It isNa Jaemin, of course. The boy has been the bane of your existence since he came to the rink for the first time a little over two weeks ago. 

Na Jaemin, with his blonde hair and constant grin, always so cocksure about everything. You had to admit, he’s an incredible skater, but you could never admit that to him. 

Especially when he is doing everything in his power to annoy you at the present moment.

“Are you even qualified to teach people how to skate?” he asks, with narrow eyes, “Can you even go backwards?”

You know he’s just teasing, just trying to get a rise out of you, and you fall so easily into his trap every time.

“Of course I can go backwards Jaemin! That’s not what I’m teaching right now though!” you reply. 

“Well then, I can do a demonstration!” 

“Jaemin, no.”

“Jaemin, yes.”

You let out a sigh as you watch him show off in front of the kids. They were a nice little bunch, but they were easily distracted, especially when the distraction was putting on such a show. 

Once again, you knew, it would be a long night.

Not even a week later, you encounter the nuisance again. Tonight, someone that usually works the food counter called off, meaning you’re stuck making hot dogs and grabbing bottles of cola for a bunch of little kids and teenagers. It wasn’t the worst job, but it certainly wasn’t your favorite. 

Especially since you can’t just skate away when Jaemin comes around to annoy you.

You spot him skating around the rink with a few of his buddies, doing laps around the younger kids. You can’t help but roll your eyes. 

The last you recalled, Jaemin never ordered much from the food counter when he was at the rink, so you assume he won’t bother you tonight. You couldn’t be more wrong.

You were back behind the pretzel machine when someone came up to the counter, ringing the bell to get your attention.

“I’ll be right there!” you call out, “What can I get for you?”

“A second of your time perhaps?”

You whip your head around to see Jaemin standing at the counter, a cheesy smile across his face. His hair is ruffled and wild, and he seems to be breathing a bit heavy from the exercise he was just doing.

You huff as you walk over to him, “Jaem, if you’re just going to annoy me, go away. Do you actually want any food?” 

He doesn’t miss the small nickname that crosses your lips, but he doesn’t have time to think too hard about it. As always, he is on a mission. 

“I wanted to show you my new skates!” he says, moving backwards a bit to show you the new boots, “Nice wheels, right?”

You can’t help the snort of amusement that comes out. The skates are bright yellow, with orange wheels and laces. They certainly will stand out under the glow of the neon lights and the disco ball over the wooden rink.

He starts moonwalking around in front of you, and you can’t help but marvel with a smile of your own at the skates and the silly boy in front of you. He must catch you staring, because he breaks you out of your trance by coming closer.

He says , “I wonder how fast I’ll be able to go in them.”

He bounds off towards the rink, zipping around the people on his new wheels. He looks back over to see if you are watching, causing a triumphant grin to grace his face when he realizes he still has your attention. 

The only problem is, with his eyes on you instead of where he’s going, he nearly runs into an older lady, and quickly diverts his course to keep from crashing into her. His new skates take him directly towards the wall, sending him on a collision course with concrete. 

His fall is anything but graceful, as his friends laugh at him. You also let out a chuckle of your own at the silly boy who will do anything for even an ounce of attention.

It is once again the end of a long day, and the quiet of the rink surrounds you. The music is turned off, and you’re the last one here, finishing up some cleaning before you finally go home. 

You always loved being the last one at the rink. The roller rink was constantly alive with lots of people, lots of sounds, lots of activity. It was calming to be the only one, skating around the rink with a broom to wipe down the surface. 

As you are making your way around the outside of the rink one last time, you hear a loud noise near the entrance to the building. You can’t help but grip the broom a little tighter, before you see Jaemin come through the door.

He glides over to the opening of the rink, his boombox in his hand. You do nothing but stare as he sets it up on the ground, pressing play before starting to skate. Finally he acknowledges your presence with a casual wave, like he isn’t here after hours or anything.

“What do you think you are doing?” you ask. “The rink closed ten minutes ago, and aren’t you tired? You were here all night.”

You couldn’t ignore the slip up you made, realizing you let it slip that you were aware of his presence all night. You didn’t need him thinking you were looking at him a lot, because you weren’t. Ever. 

“I like skating to my own tunes.” he says, as nonchalant as ever. 

He apparently doesn’t see a problem with the way things are unfolding, and you let out a huff. 

“Oh my god, I’m trying to clean the floor! Can’t you just come back tomorrow?”

“Aw, so eager to see me again?” he smiles as he makes his way to you, “Anyways, I can help!”

He takes your broom, skating around while casually sweeping. You might not have brand new skates like him, but you easily catch up to him, snatching it back.

Why was he even here? Just like you had pointed out, he had been here all night. What was keeping him from going home like the rest of the crowd?

“Go, Jaemin!” you exclaim out of annoyance, “And take your annoying boombox with you!”

His face morphs into a pout at this, “You turned off the music, what was I supposed to do?” 

“Go home?”

You glide over to the portable machine producing the loud disco music, turning off the switch. You manage to pick it up, shoving the boombox towards Jaemin.

“Jaemin, I’m begging you, go home! I can’t clean if you are still here, and I want to go home, too.”

He must see the exhausted look in your eye behind all of your annoyance, because he rolls over to you.

Jaemin grabs his boombox again, “Am I too much of a distraction if I sit on the bench?”

He gestures to the bench just outside of the rink, where little kids often tied their laces. For some reason, he just doesn’t want to leave, so you nod your head. 

He sits down, and turns on his boombox again while doing so. He turns the volume down lower, and looks out at you, jokingly saluting you in a promise to not be bothersome. 

You roll your eyes, finally resuming your cleaning. 

As you clean, Jaemin talks aimlessly. He talks about his classes at the local university next fall, and about how he just can’t figure out how to land a specific jump on his skates. 

While you were reluctant to let him stay, his presence ends up being really nice. His voice is soft as it fills the empty building, and as you both walk out to your cars after locking up, you are grateful to have someone by your side. 

It feels a little weird that you are having nice thoughts about the boy who is constantly a pain in your side, but you ignore the slight upbeat in your heart rate when he bids you goodnight.

You throw him a smile as you get into your car, “Goodnight, Jaem.”

It is once again a slow Tuesday night, and you are almost about ready to fall asleep at the admissions counter. Every so often you are assigned a shift in the ticket lobby, which you don’t mind typically. On a weekend day, you would be busy taking care of admissions for people as they came and went.

The rink is not busy today. 

And you’re about to doze off. 

You sigh. The one day you don’t have a book or a newspaper or any homework to do. 

You find yourself brushing off invisible dust from your new vest and turtleneck outfit when you hear the door chime, signaling a new customer. You look up from your seat.

Of course, it is Na Jaemin.

“Hey, are you stuck out here today?” he asks, his skate laces tied together to rest over his left shoulder.

“Yeah, it's so boring tonight, kinda empty too, but at least that means you won’t plow into a sixth grader again.” you smile.

“That was one time!” he says, also grinning at the memory.

He pulls out some money for admission and you hand him the paper wristband to show he paid and brought his own skates. Just as he is about to walk through the door to get to the rink, he pauses.

“Hey, uh, what’s your favorite song to skate to?” 

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck. He tries to explain his reasoning, “Maybe if I play it on my boombox, you won’t make me turn it off.”

You let out a chuckle, “I’ll still probably make you turn it off.”

“Y/N, can you please just answer the question?” Jaemin seems serious now.

And while you are taken aback by the change from his normally aloof demeanor, you clear your throat, “Okay, umm, I really love that new movie Grease, right now. Have you seen it? There’s this one song that’s kinda slow, ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You,’ and it’s really pretty and fun to just skate around the rink to.”

You flush out of embarrassment for the cheesy song choice, but Jaemin nods with a smile. You ignore your traitorous heart reminding you that you had definitely played your Grease soundtrack cassette tape a few too many times since meeting Jaemin. There was definitely no correlation. 

“That song is nice.” he says, before turning away and heading into the rink, leaving you alone at the ticket counter once again. 

A few days later you once again are stuck at the ticket counter. And finally, your shift is over. The ticket counter was nice every once in a while, but you feel tired of standing there, especially more than once in a week. You much preferred the satisfying exhaustion that came from being on wheels for your entire shift. 

The staff has mostly gone home, even your boss who just needed to lock up the cash office. You had offered to lock up the building after he left, since you felt like skating for a bit before going home. 

There is something about skating on the wooden floor when no one else is around. It is entirely quiet, with the music turned off, just the sound of your wheels spinning., And peaceful, with the air clear of cigarette smoke and loud screams of children playing. It was calming.

Your calm is interrupted by soft music coming from near the entrance. It’s only when you see Jaemin’s face and his stupidly large boombox that you realize what song it is. 

Your favorite song.

You can’t help the goofy smile that spreads across your face as he skates over, leaving the boombox on the ledge of the rink wall, coming over to you as ‘Hopelessly Devoted to You,’ echoes throughout the building.

He’s mouthing the lyrics as he skates to you, his eyes bright with mischief and something else that you can’t quite place. 

“Hey,” he says once he’s finally in front of you, “Can I join? It seemed a little quiet in here.”

For some reason, this flusters you, as you look at his ruffled hair and jean jacket. “Uh, yeah sure.”

With your approval, he begins skating, beckoning you to follow him. The song ends, but starts up again, and you give Jaemin a questioning look.

“I made a mixtape of this song on loop a couple of times,” he says, running a hand through his hair leisurely, like that’s the most normal thing in the world for someone to do. “It’s nice right?”

It makes you smile regardless. The two of you skate around for a bit, simply going around the rink as you would if lots of people were there. It’s comfortable, you realize, with just the two of you all alone. 

Finally on the third loop of the song, Jaemin comes a little closer, and grabs your hand quickly, as if unsure that he is able to do that. You squeeze his hand in reassurance.

It’s strange, wherever this night is going, but you can’t remember a time that you seemed happier to be at the rink. 

“I recall you mentioning you can skate backwards, yes?” Jaemin asks, after a few moments.

“Yes, of course—” you begin, but stop talking when he spins you to skate backwards in front of him, causing you to let out a slight squeal at the change.

It’s almost like dancing in a way, as he pushes the two of you forward around the rink and you impulsively grip his shoulders to make sure you can keep your balance. 

Eventually, the two of you slow down, and he leads a few spins, which sends laughter through the air and chills down your spine. It's hard to believe just a few weeks ago this boy was the most annoying pain in your side. 

The boombox finally goes quiet after its few repeats of the song, and the building is plunged into silence again, as you stand in front of Jaemin with a small smile and a sweaty complexion. 

The neon lights glow around you and Jaemin’s face turns serious. He readjusts his grip on your waist, sliding ever so slightly closer to you. 

“I’m sorry I was an asshole at the beginning.” he says, just above a whisper to be heard by only you, “I didn’t know how else to get your attention. Finally I changed the plan to this, and I think it’s working out better.”

“The plan?” you ask, your brain cloudy from his proximity.

He has the nerve to look bashful, making his face even more cuter, “I’ve, uh, kinda liked you for a while, and I needed a plan to tell you and see if you felt the same.” 

You smile, moving your left hand from his shoulder to his jawline, stroking his cheeky tenderly. Every piece of him that you touch leaves a burning feeling within your heart, and you finally are thinking you know how to fix it.

With a bold move like when he picked up your hand, you touch your lips to his, letting them sit there for a moment. It’s a chaste kiss, leaving Jaemin to decide what to do next.

He deepens the kiss, smiling as he fully wraps his arms around you and keeps you from sliding away by using his toe stops. 

The disco ball overhead isn’t turning anymore, and the music that typically fills the roller rink isn’t playing, but you’ve never found the rink more spectacular in your life. It’s not the atmosphere of the rink that you love, but the people within.

And right now, the person in front of you is your favorite.

[margridarnauds]

🔥 takarazuka *hides*

Anon, do you want me to be MURDERED? 

Okay, I want this to be emphasized: I LIKE Takarazuka! I do! And I have friends who are Zuka fans and I love hearing them talk about Zuka/watching Zuka musicals with them! 1789 Zuka was basically what got me back into loving 1789, and getting into Zuka was a good stepping stone for getting into Toho. The costumes and production value are excellent, and I give them full credit for their reputation as a Japanese cultural icon and the current leading musical theatre troupe in Japan. 

HOWEVER, I also think that they routinely bank on that reputation in order to have a “style over substance” approach - Exemplified by the Top Star system, which often focuses on capitalizing on the popularity of one or two stars while underdeveloping other characters and, on top of that, due to the privileged position of otokoyakus compared to musumeyakus, it often comes with quite a bit of sexist baggage as well. (See: Solène’s song being given to Camille in 1789, Dmitri getting “Journey to the Past” + his own solo song in Anastasia, Guinevere having a mental breakdown in La Legende Du Roi Arthur + having her father threaten to honor kill her, Emma’s characterization in IAFA being flattened so that she can still be palatable, not having had a boyfriend before, not being as assertive, not being as casual when she’s around Josi even though the entire point of her relationship with Josi IS that she’s able to loosen up around him.) 

And to some extent....no, I don’t expect, in the case of an adaptation, for EVERYTHING to remain the same, and in a lot of musicals, I think it was, genuinely, for the better - 1789 is much better than its French counterpart, partially DUE to the star system because it forced them to give multiple minor characters songs to create a solid ensemble musical, as is Don Juan. I do believe that there’s a problem where, when people see Zuka musical adaptations, they’ll miss the forest for the trees, complaining about plot details being changed without considering the broader cultural context. (See: Robespierre.) That being said, I do, fully, believe that we can and should be allowed to talk about sexism in particular. And, if we want to talk about Japan’s relationship to sexism in particular....Toho, while it’s made its share of slip-ups (Solène), has been doing perfectly fine with stronger female characters as well. Zuka relies on fan loyalty to do the bare minimum so that it can get pats on the shoulder for making progress (though I WILL say, in its defense, that it does have to keep up fan loyalty as well, so I know that it can’t go TOO far but...) Just have the top star wink at the camera in an important scene and people will keep coming, no need to talk about the sexism here, keep it rolling, keep giving the right amount of fanservice, toss some glitter on the problem. We don’t need character development, we don’t need plot, make it kawaii and sparkly and it’s fine! (And I want it noted, before anyone suggests that I’m forcing western feminism onto Japanese media, that a lot of my understanding of this has been formed by talking to Japanese friends.) There have been some Strong Zuka Heroine, but some of them seem....generically “empowered” without really having all that much to show for it, still being palatable, dainty, poised, and lovable, even if they might initially reject the Zuka hero’s advances. You couldn’t have, say, Margrid Arnaud in a Zuka musical, as grimy and gremlin-like as she is - You still can’t really have female characters who are PEOPLE. 

It’s also very hard to be a Zuka fan as someone who’s very much a fan of MUSICALS because in general, within about a month or two, the bulk of fan attention tends to go to the next big project, especially since Zuka is constantly producing new musicals (exhausting its stars to the point where most top stars only last around 3 years which, tbh, can’t be mentally or physically healthy), and, for me, six months is barely enough time for me to fully decide my basic opinions on a musical - It usually takes that long, in the case of double-casts, for me to decide which I like more. To the Zuka fandom’s credit, I DO regularly get, say, likes and reblogs on gifsets from older productions, but, for the most part, there’s very much this constant moving from one show to the next while I tend to stay put and stan a few shows at a time. 

And, of course, as a Toho fan, it’s difficult because I generally get this feeling of Toho being....inferior. People will boast about spending upwards of $500 on Zuka merchandise, going to Japan to see shows, but when it comes to paying for Toho shows, suddenly ~$125 is too much and I should give my DVDs to them. I will gladly watch Zuka musicals with friends because I like watching new musicals + hanging out with friends, but SUDDENLY, when I want to watch Toho musicals, I have to qualify them by what former Zuka stars are around. Toho musicals don’t get much appreciation - all we get is people wanting Zuka/complaining about Toho because it includes men (which makes me feel SUPER awkward as a bi woman, ngl) and then, when we want a tiny bit of recognition, getting a shoulder shrug and “well, girls do it better.” (Note: The Toho girls are doing quite well in their own right - Just ask Aya Hirano, Sonim, Erika Ikuta, Natsumi Kon...) And, of course, that’s not including musicals from other theatre companies, it’s just that, frankly, any recognition Toho’s gotten in the last few years has been purely because me and a few friends/mutuals have been working our tails off to give it that recognition, while Zuka gets more while doing less. 

And the fandom, in general, isn’t willing to hear a SINGLE critical word against it, maintaining a policy of intimidation, fear tactics, and guilting in order to keep people silent while getting pissed off at minor faux pas that, unless you’ve been around the block, you wouldn’t *know*. And, for my part, I don’t have a general policy of outwardly TRASHING musicals, but I also fully believe that, when you’re asking people to spend upwards of a hundred dollars on a proshot (or to spend the time to watch a +2 hour musical), they should know, bluntly, what they’re getting. I swore, a long time ago, that I would never sugarcoat how I really felt about a Toho musical if asked because, as far as I’m concerned, people deserve to know the truth from my perspective. I won’t hide, for example, that I feel like Hanafusa Mari's acting hasn’t been solid for close to a decade and that Kaname Ouki’s Marie Antoinette’s been known to cause dogs to spontaneously break out in howling fits, because I want to be as trustworthy as possible. I’m happy for the friends I’ve made in the fandom, I wouldn’t trade them for the world, and I do enjoy the musicals that I’ve gotten into, but I wouldn’t dare go further into the fandom than that. 

[im-the-king-of-the-ocean]

Rose Puppetry

*saunters onto your dashboard*

sooooo who ordered the Nuts and Dolts Steampunk AU? 

@misstrashchan

(chapter 1 of 2, bc when you get over 1k words and are still on build-up, you may as well just split the fic into two chapters - well that and I really need to tend to my other fics too, but want to share this one now)

I’m gonna make y’all wait for that sweet sweet satisfying closure

(also, forgot to mention, this is roughly inspired by the Mechanism’s Once Upon a Time (In Space) album - do with that information whatever you’d like)

.

Blinding sunlight glares into everyone’s eyes as the drop ship ascends above the heavy cloud of pollution fog ever present over Mantle and cuts into the crisp, clear, blue sky.  The men among them wince and shield their eyes.  The rewired Mantle Street Soldier Units (MSSU-132s) don’t react at all.  Penny adjusts her eyes’ aperture until she can see perfectly again.

It’s been a while since any of them have seen daylight.  Mantle’s manufacturing plants create and maintain a thick smog that tends to absorb anything but rain too hard to be stopped.  Atlas Prime’s bulking shadow, too, stops most any light from reaching its sister city’s streets.

Their pilot cloaks their ship and gives Penny her cue.  She begins emitting radio interference that should make them undetectable to Atlesian scanners.  They fly toward the dominating stronghold in the sky.  No one who can breath does so very loudly, as if they’ll be heard over the increasingly loud whir and whine of Prime’s great Flight Engines.

Atlas Prime, formerly just the City of Atlas, can be considered one of the greatest marvels in the world.  An entire city in the sky, kept aloft by the largest, most powerful steam engines to ever exist.  A century ago, its founders built Atlas as a symbol of innovation, one meant to inspire future generations to look up and dream of what they could accomplish if only they applied themselves.  Though their aspirations and intent were genuine, those distinguished inventors failed to take into account the sheer amount of resources maintaining the City of Atlas would require as it grew.

In the beginning, historical documents claimed, Atlas’s needs led to an economic boom in Mantle, as money flowed freely from the flying city to pay for everything it took.  Then, something (the relinquishing of the Schnee Dust Company from its founder into his son-in-law’s hands, a handful of brave historians who no one has heard from since, claimed) changed.

Atlesians, growing content and complacent in their power, started to hoard their wealth.  They paid less, demanded more, and drove independent, Mantle-run businesses into the ground when they refused to comply with Atlesian wishes.  It wasn’t long until Mantle became little more than a collection of mass production factories kept firmly under Atlas’s thumb after that.

The hunger of Atlas, though, is known to this day to be an insatiable beast.  Mantle could provide it with building materials and fuel, but their shared location in bitter Solitas meant food beyond what arctic creatures could be hunted or the scarce few crops that would grow in their soil was an impossibility.

Thus, the Atlesian Conquest began.

The elderly, Mantle’s grandmothers and grandfathers, when they have a rare moment of rest, will sit and rasp out the story of the day Beta Atlas detached from Prime and flew off into the horizon in the direction of Vacuo.  Not to return before news of the invasion into the desert kingdom filtered back to Mantle’s streets.

Beta Atlas was only the first of the Atlesian war machines.  Since its launch, fortresses too numerous to count have been built and flown off to conquer Remnant.  Every now and then, reports of new victories or surrenders will play on the nightly news radio broadcast.

Vacuo remains stubbornly independent, despite all the General King of Atlas’s best efforts.  Although, it’s rumored Vacuo’s once fabled oasis have all been drained and little more of worth remains in the desert.  Thus, without anything of too much interest to keep it, Atlas’s attention has turned elsewhere.  

Mistral signed a treaty with Atlas as quickly as it could, and thus remains untouched by war.  No one knows how long that will last.  No one in Mantle believes it will.  The people of Mistral, Mantle’s inhabitants whisper amongst themselves, are fooling themselves if they think Atlas will let anyone remain out of its complete, dominating control for long.

However, that’s a fight for another time.  Currently speaking, Atlas’s eye is transfixed upon Vale, where its conquest has met strong resistance.  Despite having lesser technology available to them, the Huntsmen Army of Vale have fought Atlesian forces back again and again.  Stories have spread about Vale’s legendary huntsmen and huntresses and their clever tactics.  They might not be stronger or more powerful than Atlas’s robotic forces, but they’re definitely smarter.  Unpredictable.

For the first time in a very long time, there’s whispers of hope that something might be able to stop Atlas.

Penny finds and clasps her hand around the gold locket she wears around her neck, without taking the trinket out from under her shirt.  It would shimmer and shine and draw too much attention if she were to do that.  But, holding onto it grounds her, reminds her of her mission.

Penny once believed in Atlas.  She was built to carry out its will.  Sent to Vale long before the first flying war fortress, and disguised as a regular, human girl.  Her mission was to observe and spy.  She’d been programmed with curiosity, to learn as much as she could.  And she had.  Too much, in fact.

For her entire existence up to her deployment in Vale, all Penny knew was solitude.  Unlike the rest of Atlas’s automated army, she wasn’t mass-produced.  Penny is the singular product of blueprints uncovered in what was revealed to be the long lost workshop of Pietro Polendina, one of the last Great Minds of Atlas.  Whereas many only saw her blueprints as the frivolity of a man who didn’t live in a time of war, General King Ironwood himself had seen potential.  He’d ordered Penny’s creation, given her weaponry upgrades, cared for her, kept her safe as his ‘secret weapon.’  Then, the day had come where he told her it was time to fulfill her destiny.

She’d been ecstatic.  She was finally getting to go out and See The World and help bring an entire kingdom into the safety and security of Atlas’s rule, wasn’t it wonderful?

It was.  For a time.

Vale is a beautiful kingdom.  Rich and vibrant in ways Penny never could have dreamed after only knowing a greasy, barely illuminated lab as home.  She’d loved exploring.  Finding and studying in the great libraries open to all.  Wandering around outdoors where the sky isn’t a perpetual exhaust gray, where birds sing, and where little multi-colored butterflies flutter everywhere.

It was chasing after such a butterfly that Penny had stumbled into someone and the direction of her life had forever changed.  She learned what it was like to have a friend in the following days.  To not constantly feel alone.

To fall in love.

Here now, in the rebellion drop ship, Penny wishes she could open her locket.  Just so she can see Ruby’s face again.  Sure, if everything goes well on their mission, she will see Ruby again by day’s end.

But nothing is ever certain, especially in war.

“Get ready,” the pilot tells the rescue team.  “We’re arriving at the drop point.”

Penny braces herself.  Regardless of their success probability (currently hovering at a frustrating low 67%), she will do everything she can to save Ruby.

Because she loves her dearly.

And because it’s Penny’s fault she was captured in the first place.

[julia-bernardo]

Convenience, At What Cost?

"Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the sea resound, and all that is in it. Let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them; let all the trees of the forest sing for joy." Psalm 96:11-12

With the extreme changes in environmental conditions with a higher frequency of disastrous events, we are called to change our lifestyle and habits before it is too late. Good day, I am Julia Bernardo and I have written this blog entry in order to reassess my current habits, and further call on others to do the same and advocate for eradicating the widespread exhaustion of our natural resources, also known as 'throwaway culture'.

Feel free to either keep reading along this blog post or access a PDF version of this entry here.

💖🌿🍂

How throwaway culture affects each and every one of us, and why we need to pay attention to this issue.

By: Julia Maria M. Bernardo // 2MBIO3 // College of Science

The last cup of coffee we bought from the nearby café, the takeout we ate for lunch, and that order that arrived from our recent purchase from an online store. Such mundane things, almost habitual– we have grown so accustomed to our current way of living that we have forgotten the impact it creates on others, and even more, on the world itself. Often, we forget that the world and its resources are finite. These resources we continually use would pile up as trash somewhere, affecting ecosystems and contributing to the eventual collapse that would affect us all one day.

The ongoing over-consumption, exploitation, and abuse of natural resources is also known as “throwaway culture”. So why exactly is this a pressing issue? Why should we, even as students, be concerned about it? Will I even make a difference if I’m the only one doing it? These questions may seem overwhelming and the thought of abandoning habits we have grown accustomed to may seem daunting, but let’s tackle these things one at a time.

Well, turns out, throwaway culture is indeed something that we urgently need to pay attention to, and rightfully so. According to peer-reviewed studies, global temperature is expected to rise up to 4°C within this century should current trends on the emission of greenhouse gases continue. This not only causes changes in climate, but land and ocean life, sea levels, and many ecosystems are expected to collapse within this timeframe. Different aspects of our lifestyle such as the use of private transportation and constantly using disposable items contribute to the accumulation of greenhouse gases (GHGs). As trash degrades in landfills, methane and nitrous oxide are released into the atmosphere. On a larger scale, companies with unsustainable practices or those that mass produce single-use products are culprits as well, as industrial activity greatly contributes to global warming.

One of the most prominent issues that both science and religion agrees on is the conservation of the Earth. According to Pope Benedict XVI on his speech during the World Day of Peace in 2007, “Experience shows that disregard for the environment always harms human coexistence, and vice versa. It becomes more and more evident that there is an inseparable link between peace with creation and peace among men”. This further presses on the issue that advocating for sustainable living and care for the environment is a communal effort. Likewise, in the Caritas in Veritate by Pope Benedict XVI, “The protection of the environment, of resources and of the climate obliges all international leaders to act justly and to show a readiness to work in good faith, respecting the law and promoting solidarity with the weakest regions of the planet.” We must be conscious of our actions, as the continuous abuse and exploitation that happens are sure to harm us as well, while having a greater impact on the less fortunate who may not have the means to adapt to the changing environment.

In the Bible, mention of God’s grace through his creation has also been included, such as in Romans 1:20, “For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made, so that people are without excuse.”. Everything that we have are given to us by God’s grace and manifests His unending love for us. By doing practices that harm or neglect these gifts, we reject not only God’s presence, but we also fail to consider how his other creations are affected; this includes human beings, which he equally loves regardless of any physical, social, or economic divisions.

So, what exactly can we do, and will a change in an individual make a tangible change in our current reality? The simple answer is yes. Time and time again, we always hear the phrase that “change starts from within”. By reevaluating our lifestyle, we can switch to other alternatives without really sacrificing anything. While it may seem less convenient, it is a small price to pay for lessening our contribution to the growing landfills. However, this change does not stop in our individual lives. It is vital that we advocate for environmental causes, calling on companies that largely contribute to industrial waste and pollution. Likewise, influencing the people around us to do the same may seem like a small action, but has great consequences in terms of reducing the generated waste.

With the culmination of Church teachings and scientific methods that explicitly provides effective means to save the Earth, may the next generation continue to enjoy the same resources and safe environment that we do today.

References:

Caritas et Veritate, n.d. Retrieved from: http://www.vatican.va/content/benedict-xvi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_ben-xvi_enc_20090629_caritas-in-veritate.html

Catholic Social Teaching on Care for Creation and Stewardship of the Earth. [PDF]. Retrieved from: https://www.usccb.org/issues-and-action/human-life-and-dignity/environment/environmental-justice-program/upload/Environmental-Primer.pdf

Theology 4, Unit 1 – Spirituality of Mercy

Theology 4, Unit 2 – Dialogue with the Poor

UCAR, 2020. Predictions of Future Global Climate. Retrieved from: https://scied.ucar.edu/learning-zone/climate-change-impacts/predictions-future-global-climate#:~:text=During%20the%2021st%20Century%2C%20computer,Celsius%20(1.8%C2%B0%20F)

[atreya300]

Slenderman and Creating Real Tulpas

I remember a couple of years ago finding out about Slenderman.  It was so creepy that I looked into it a lot, especially when I heard the theory about Slenderman being a Tulpa.  As if he wasn’t creepy enough just by being a made up story on the Internet, kids were killing other kids, or stabbing other kids, in order to “please Slenderman”.  Clearly a game that they had invented and taken deadly seriously.

A Tulpa is an intended hallucination which can be sentient and have its own thoughts and personality.  It is (according to the Tulpa Community, but not, I may add, folkloric legend) only seen by the person who created it, who has done so by prolonged periods of thinking solely about what the tulpa looks like, talks like, moves like etc, thus developing, in essence, another person who is sharing their body and mind, but functions as a separate personality.  We know of lucid dreaming, as I have often done it myself.  We’re aware that our brains are more than capable of producing extremely real and vivid hallucinations.  

So is it entirely impossible that if enough people all put enough thought power into the creation of the same, singular individual, that a tulpa could be formed which could break free of the constraints of individual minds and be a person all of its own, with its own free will and the power to manipulate others?  I believe it is possible.  Call me crazy.  My tin foil hat is firmly in place.  It’s hilarious really when you consider that I laughed down the Flat Earthers, yet here I am saying that it’s possible to create an imaginary friend who can turn into a mind-bending, master manipulator.

I didn’t have many friends growing up.  So I was one of the kids who didn’t mind admitting that I had invented an imaginary friend.  His name was Bill and he was based off of Bill from ‘Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure’ because I was obsessed with that movie.  I would talk to him whilst walking home from school alone, ask him what he would do in my place during different situations that I was struggling with and he always had an answer that I imagined.  I would say, “Bill, do you think [insert boyfriend name here] is a dick?” and in my head he would instantly say, “Hell yeah he is, you need to dump his ass!”.  Of course, I never once thought that I had created another person.  It was my imaginary friend.  In my head.  Made up by me.  Well, me and Alex Winter.  His instant “responses” was just my own subconscious mind telling me what I really, truly felt, without having to consciously think about it.

Having perused the Tulpa Community it seems to be an extremely dangerous rabbit hole.  For one, what they are describing as “tulpas”, at best, mostly seem to be an adult version of an imaginary friend and at worst, a real mental health issue, possibly Dissociative Identity Disorder which is incredibly serious and is being passed off as something that is perfectly normal and almost a uncommon achievement to be able to create a tulpa, rather than the reality which is that there is real medical and psychological help out there for cases such as DID and it should certainly not be explained away as a deliberately induced imaginary friend who will solve all your problems for you.  Passing it off as such could potentially make the case even worse.  I’m not a psychologist.  I’m just using common sense. If you cultivate something, it grows.

So.  I have made a decision that I don’t buy into the Tulpa Community.  There are also a lot of comments on YouTube videos and forums that are quite blatantly people who are full of absolute shit and others who are just clearly attention seeking.  I thoroughly enjoyed the brilliant sarcastic responses to those comments.

Now let’s get serious (ish).  Bear with me.  Let’s get back to the theory of many people being able to collectively produce a tulpa.

As I said before, I became obsessed with Slenderman.  I watched videos (all of Marble Hornets), read newspaper articles, looked at pictures, read stories, until he became my every waking thought.  After a week and a half I developed sensations such as paranoia, racing heart, dizziness and the feeling of constantly being watched by something just out of the corner of my eye.  I began having horrific nightmares and would wake up drenched in sweat.  I stopped being able to lucid dream and wake myself up and was forced to play out the nightmares, helpless.  It got to the point where I didn’t want to sleep.  The times that my boyfriend had blessedly snored loudly enough to wake my conscious brain, I sat up in bed, exhausted, trying desperately to keep my eyes open and not fall back to sleep.  Every shadow in the bedroom seemed to resemble Slenderman and I was convinced that as soon as the lights got dim or it was dark, he was there in the shadows waiting.  I stopped going to bed before my boyfriend.  I didn’t want to be in the house alone.

Looking back, naturally it all seems totally stupid.  Me, a grown 35 year old, scaring myself silly because of a kids’ story on the internet.  But what if it really is possible to create a tulpa by using enough collective subconscious power?  Thousands of people in the world at the time were reading those same stories and scaring themselves silly like I was.  If it was possible to create a tulpa, Slenderman and his fame would most certainly warrant it.

For anyone who isn’t familiar with the 80’s movie ‘A Nightmare on Elm Street’, the main bad guy/killer is Freddy Kruger, a demon (who was a bloke who killed kids and then got burned in a fire by their fucked-off parents, then he came back from the dead in peoples’ dreams, as a...you know what, I don’t fucking actually really know what kind of thing Freddy is) who kills people in their dreams.  Enough people get to know about him and he suddenly can break free of only being in their dreams and can exist in the real world, killing whomever he chooses in reality.  Freddy, is a tulpa.  He existed in reality, purely because all the kids talked about him, described him to each other, then dreamed about him, which cemented him more in their brains, until he became a reality.  By what was, if I remember correctly, the 407th film featuring Freddy, ‘Freddy vs Jason’ the townsfolk had worked out that the only way to defeat Freddy, was to pretend he didn’t exist.  No one was allowed to talk about him, no one could mention his name, and anyone who dreamed about him was given dream suppression pills so they ceased dreaming altogether (boy didn’t I crave Hypnocil during my Slenderman nights).  In this way, Freddy became weak and the town was safe (for a while - Stage Right - freaky hockey-mask-wearing-dude-with-mommy-issues).

My point is that from my personal point of view, the Tulpa Community are people who have really good imaginations, like myself and are doing nothing more than imagining another person.  They are not “creating” a tulpa.  Not in the sense that I think they think they are anyway.  I sort of feel like a tulpa is akin to a golem who is created to protect someone or something and is capable of physical destruction in the real world.

I digress.  Touching on Slendy for the podcast is something I’ve wanted to do for a while now, but I’ve hummed and hawed because, let’s face it, I’m scared.  Slenderman did become a bit too real for me, even if it was in my head and my mind playing tricks on me, but it put me through sheer terror, I was legitimately scared of my own shadow so opening this can of worms is a big deal for me, even if it seems utterly stupid for a grown woman to feel that way.  If two young girls can pretend that killing their friend as a “sacrifice to Slenderman” is real, then who’s to say if enough people genuinely hallucinated Slendy and his creepy, murderous personality, that other people could not be compelled to kill?  He would become his own person. I’m a tin-foil hat wearing silly girl who believes a lot of ridiculous things (except Flat Earth, you guys are wrong - just saying), but from a mass hallucination point of view, I do genuinely think this could be plausible.  And by delving back into this research, not only am I opening up the likelihood of scaring myself silly, into seeing shit that isn’t there, I would also have to be held (partially) responsible for creating the master Slenderman that wipes out the world by making people kill each other.  Hmph.  And Ted Bundy thought he had some great ideas.

Also, “Tulpamancy” is a thing.  Although not according to the Tibetians, where the tulpa originated.  Funny that.  Almost as if it’s a made up word.  (It is.  By the Tulpa Community.)

As for the pretend “Tulpa Community”?  Some of these people envision their tulpas as characters from ‘My Little Pony’.  Make of that what you will.  I wouldn’t personally be taking career and life advice off of a fucking horse.  All I’m saying.

[fursasaida]

*asking you about your foucauldian critique of social media*

Okay! This will require several steps, so long post ahoy.

Foucault’s view of discipline argues that power does not only constrain people; it is not only a negative force that stops, silences, or limits. It is also a positive force that pushes people to perform certain behaviors, say certain things, act certain ways. Power is productive.

In line with this, Foucault argues that the idea ofdiscursive freedom–being free to express yourself–is in many ways also ademand that converts the energy of being “saved” from Christianity intoself-expression. Naming your sexuality, for example, becomes a form of“confession”–not necessarily of a sin (the parallel here is not that straightforward), but ofthe inner contents of your being. Literally ex-pressing your self–pushing your inner self out–becomes liberatory, in that it is telling the truth (or rather, producing a truth). His point is that while this seems liberatory, and may be experienced that way for some, it is still inescapably tied to power’s productive side. Power has already inflected what it is possible to say about yourself, what such statements mean (the words as well as social effects), and so forth, and so by engaging in such acts of confession one is participating in and upholding the power of such systems. Here’s an excerpt from The History of Sexuality:

Whence a metamorphosis in literature: we have passed from a pleasure to be recounted and heard, centering on the heroic or marvelous narration of “trials” of bravery or sainthood, to a literature ordered according to the infinite task of extracting from the depths of oneself, in between the words, a truth which the very form of the confession holds out like a shimmering mirage. Whence too this new way of philosophizing: seeking the fundamental relation to the true, not simply in oneself—in some forgotten knowledge, or in a certain primal trace—but in the self-examination that yields, through a multitude of fleeting impressions, the basic certainties of consciousness. The obligation to confess is now relayed through so many different points, is so deeply ingrained in us, that we no longer perceive it as the effect of a power that constrains us; on the contrary, it seems to us that truth, lodged in our most secret nature, “demands” only to surface; that if it fails to do so, this is because a constraint holds it in place, the violence of a power weighs it down, and it can finally be articulated only at the price of a kind of liberation. Confession frees, but power reduces one to silence; truth does not belong to the order of power, but shares an original affinity with freedom: traditional themes in philosophy, which a “political history of truth” would have to overturn by showing that truth is not by nature free—nor error servile—but that its production is thoroughly imbued with relations of power. The confession is an example of this.

Self-expression is also self-production, but this is framed as a moment of liberatory truth. If confessing your sins liberated you from their weight and consequences, enabling salvation, in our secular world confessing your self liberates you from repression, invisibility, non-recognition, “living a lie.” (Obviously the current politics of “representation matters” are tied to this.) You can only be sure that you exist by confessing what you are.

Rey Chow talks about this same confessional idea with regard to ethnicity in ~the West~ (from The Protestant Ethnic and the Spirit of Capitalism):

From the perspective of ethnicity and feminism, the logical conclusion from Foucault’s analysis is, quite clearly, unappealing and unflattering. It demonstrates that the supposed radicalization performed by race and gender awareness on representation—by the insistence on the marginal, the local, the personal, and the autobiographical, for instance—needs to be modified by an understanding of the symbiotic relation between the radical and power as such. Within this relation, resorting to the self-referential gesture as an ethnic and/or sexual minority is often tantamount to performing a confession in the criminal as well as noncriminal sense: it is to say, “Yes, that’s me,” to a call and a vocation—“Hey, Asian!” “Hey, Indian!” “Hey, gay man!”—as if it were a crime with which one has been charged; it is to admit and submit to the allegations (of otherness) that society at large has made against one. Such acts of confession may now be further described as a socially endorsed, coercive mimeticism, which stipulates that the thing to imitate, resemble, and become is none other than the ethnic or sexual minority herself. When minority individuals think that, by referring to themselves, they are liberating themselves from the powers that subordinate them, they may actually be allowing such powers to work in the most intimate fashion—from within their hearts and souls, in a kind of voluntary surrender that is, in the end, fully complicit with the guilty verdict that has been declared on them socially long before they speak.

I wanted to include this because it underlines that the confessional power relation is not limited to sexuality (where the idea of the closet might make the direct transfer of a notion of “sin” easy to assume) and ties the whole thing more closely to the idea of self-representation. What she adds to the point of Foucault’s that I summarized as “You can only be sure that you exist by confessing what you are” is that for many, you can only be what you are by confessing it. Recognition depends on it. If you are not talking about what it means to you to be Asian, announcing/performing your participation in “Asian culture,” your Asianness is suspect. (Perhaps you are an assimilationist, or “white on the inside.”) Same goes for any other form of marginalized identity. That’s what she means by “coercive mimeticism”–you must imitate what you are supposed to be in order to count as being it.

Elsewhere in this same chapter, Chow talks a lot about liberation and ultimately asks, liberation from what? Her point is that much Western thinking and politics assumes that the masses are repressed–silenced, invisibilized, made to feel shame–precisely so as to make it necessary for them to liberate themselves through confession. To be clear, this doesn’t mean that no one actually is silenced, made to feel shame, or invisibilized; they surely are, as decades of media criticism have shown. It is, however, asking whether this kind of self-announcement actually addresses the root problems. If you can only liberate yourself from repression through coercive mimeticism, how liberating is that, really?

Many marginalized people have talked about the exhausting burden of always having to be “the one in the room,” always having to talk about their particular marginalized experience, rarely getting to speak about anything else. For example, Ava DuVernay has repeatedly noted that film journalists ask her about the representational politics of her work constantly, and the craft almost never. In such interviews the journalists are effectively inviting her to, as Chow puts it, “Confess yourself!” By providing her the forum to represent her identity they nonetheless mark and other her with that same identity.

Now, as we all know by now, social media exists not to connect people or to provide a forum for expression but to sell advertising and collect data. It nonetheless does do those other things, but in particular ways. Social media is unlike a diary in that a diary has nothing to do with engagement. A diary does not require others to recognize you via the statements you write in it; it does not require others at all.

But social media does require those things. Without them, the algorithm buries your posts as “low engagement” and punishes you with a feeling of neglect in that your expression has been, it seems, ignored by your friends and loved ones. This obviously encourages users to trammel their posts into specific vocabularies, genres, and types of subject matter that the algorithm will like and that people will engage with. (Zeynep Tufekci illustrates the mechanics of this very well in her discussion of the particular challenges algorithmic favorability poses for activists in Twitter and Teargas.) In that sense it intensifies the “relay” effect of social power on what one is moved to say.

But it’s more fundamental than that. It’s not only about what one is moved to say but that one is moved to speak in the first place. Stefan Higgins elaborates on how the pressure to “share” arises from the general state of anxiety that many social media platforms induce:

Social media platforms use our ambivalence about attention and our own agency to their own benefit at the same time as they seem to cater to us. […T]hey mobilize our negative feelings to give us the impression of agency.

Crises, like sparkplugs, spur us into action: gathering information, waiting for updates, searching for opinions. This process keeps us forever suspended, forever updating, and forever in “crisis mode.” When platforms show us things that make us feel bad and anxious, it is not because they are working defectively but because they are working correctly.

This state of anxiety makes sharing updates, commenting on recent developments, commenting on the discourse about the crisis, or cracking jokes about the shared state of anxiety extremely natural. You have to do something while you’re hanging out refreshing your feed; you mark yourself as a good observer by what you retweet, respond to, comment on. This feeds the overall tendency to actually express oneself on these platforms, not just use them to observe. And much of this expression is made up of confessions: about how the crisis is making us feel, about how we don’t care enough or care too much, about how it affects us as the type of self we are imitating (coercive mimeticism).

This rising tide of expression/confession has a secondary effect in turn. In a world where (seemingly) everyone has a public megaphone and makes frequent use of it, the act of not speaking becomes, itself, potentially suspect. This is why after, e.g., a terrorist attack in Paris, many people changed their Facebook icons or added a filter that stood for solidarity with/grieving for the victims. (In other words, they did not only observe this iteration of crisis in Higgins’ sense; they commented on it.)

Many, perhaps most of those users had never been to Paris, knew no one there, and had no special expertise about the place or the event. Practically speaking, they had nothing to do with it. But not to participate in these icon “confessions” becomes tantamount to saying “I don’t care about this tragedy.” More and more public figures are functionally obligated to speak about any issue in the news cycle, whether or not they actually have anything of value to say about it, because otherwise their silence is “telling” or “deafening.” In other words, the pressure to confess one’s inner truth becomes more and more constant for more and more people, because not doing so becomes a statement in itself.

I thought the Duchess of Cambridge’s recent appearance at the Golden Globes was a good example. It was the year that the women attending wore black in recognition of #TimesUp. Kate compromised by wearing a dress that was partially black and partially a dark, solid color. There was MASSIVE discussion about what this meant–did she support the movement? Was she saying she didn’t? Why hadn’t she spared everyone the angst by releasing a statement, if she wasn’t going to wear black? A few decades ago this would have played out differently. The royalty are supposed to be “apolitical” (lol), and so the standard operating procedure would have been simply to say nothing. Saying nothing would not have meant active disagreement or non-support in the eyes of much of the public (though activists would probably feel differently). It would have been the thing to do if you want to stay neutral. I think her people were operating on that outdated playbook when they chose a compromise frock and agreed that she shouldn’t issue a statement to clarify what the dress did or did not mean. But nowadays, silence or even ambiguity automatically means “I’m against it” (or whatever the suspect, Bad view is) because the expectation is that one should always come out with a statement of some sort. So if you don’t, it must be because your inner truth–what you think about it–is something you think wouldn’t be well received. A lot of people (including happy royal-watchers who love Kate) were very troubled by her silence, even though she is not in the industry, not even from this country, and arguably not really in a position where her opinion ought to be offered.

But silence does not mean silence anymore. When the social default is to express oneself all the time about everything, silence becomes a statement of refusal to participate, which must be meaningful in itself.

This, in turn, reinforces the increasing ubiquity of the obligation to confess. And it’s so easy! And it comes with various kinds of rewards! All of this in turn serves the business models of social media companies: “Liberate yourself through confession by generating more data and eyeballs for us to sell!” (Again, this is not to say that people don’t actually find liberating community and connection on social media. Tufekci makes this very clear in Twitter and Teargas. But that’s not what social media is for.)

I strongly suspect that the tendency for individuals who are not marginalized in any major way to identify themselves as somehow deviant is part of this. It’s not only about the representational dynamics described above: people are disaffected in general, and we live in an individualist society with strong narratives about personal branding, self-discovery, and setting oneself apart. So people deal with their sense of disaffection by producing themselves as (supposedly) unique, whether this means creating a fake online identity, identifying with diagnoses or sexualities that may or may not really apply or mean much (”heteroflexible,” anyone?), or getting really obnoxious about their taste in music or whatever else. This is basic culture of capitalism stuff. But part of how it actually happens is through confession.

Chris Fleming summarized it well, I think:

I’m also tired of people normalizing the word “freak.” “Sometimes I’ll have two lattes! I’m such a freak!” “Sometimes I’ll sing along to music in my car. I’m a goddamn freak!!”

I think it’s really notable that people repeatedly confess their freakiness, even when it is incredibly normal shit. Why put it in these terms? Why not distinguish oneself through excellence or accomplishments or anything else? Why do so many social media posts start with “Is it just me or…” “Am I the only one who…” “Does anybody else…” and all the other phrases that imply that the poster is confessing a quirk or oddity, or something they at least think might be abnormal? Even when it’s super-duper boringly normal?

Basic insecurity is part of it, of course. So too is the fact that these phrasings invite others to engage: to chime in, saying “@ me next time,” “called out,” “I feel seen,” etc. This is one of the “genres” of posts that social media encourages by its engagement-oriented algorithmic structures. But more than that, speaking this way turns what could be just “sharing” a stray thought into an act of confession. Pretending that one is expressing something from behind a veil of repression (because it means you’re ~coming out as a freak, confessing something) allows the poster–even those belonging to the most normative categories–to access that sense of liberation, of self-production, of “speaking your truth” that is involved with the acts of confession structurally required of the marginalized.

People often fret about the reward structure of social media as being a kind of dopamine factory, where you get positive responses for posting. Various critics are worried about people counting likes and comments and reposts, on the model of a lab rat getting pellets. This is probably a real thing; I’ve experienced it at times. But it’s not the whole story. To go back to Higgins, the emotional experience of social media is ambivalent (more than positive). We sit in what Sianne Ngai calls “ugly feelings”:

Historically, scholars have tended to interpret unambiguous feelings like anger, fear, and happiness as the primary drivers of our actions, but for Ngai it’s the ugly feelings — ambivalent emotions like envy, irritation, and anxiety — that are “perversely functional.” Ngai argues that ambiguous and ugly feelings are non-cathartic, because they “foreground a failure of emotional release.” This failure prompts a kind of “suspended action”: exactly the kind of obstructed agency we often feel at the mercy of endlessly updating platforms and algorithms. To feel irritation is to feel a kind of ongoing, weak anger that does not come with the emotional release of an outburst of fury, since we may not know what, exactly, we are irritated about. The suspended and even disorienting feelings of irritation or anxiety drive an unceasing desire to act in some way to overcome the confusion these feelings cause.

Because ugly feelings are confusing, and because that confusion motivates a desire in us to “feel better,” negative emotions are actually productive of action — a productivity perfectly suited to information-gathering, capital-accumulating platform corporations.

There are two points to be made here. First, that last line about productivity is easily paralleled to Foucault’s understanding of discipline and power. Second, while Higgins is more focused on how the desire for catharsis keeps us refreshing feeds, looking for something that will help us feel that our “ugly” emotions are resolved, I would point out that another way to generate a sense of catharsis (however fleeting or week) is the liberatory rush of self ex-pression, of confession. And social media makes it possible to get that anytime you want.

While this affordance is definitely tied to engagement–confession requires a hearer–it’s not simply about the mechanics of wanting more likes. It’s also not just about moving your thoughts and feelings out of your brain, like in a diary. It’s about not just being seen, but being seen to have confessed: that is where the reward of confession lies. In this reduced, micro form, it is a way of reminding ourselves that we exist, proving to ourselves and others that we are who we say we are. Higgins again: “Although many critiques of technology and social media claim that ‘compulsive’ platforms nullify our sense of agency and alienate us from an idealized ‘real life,’ it may be more accurate to say they flatter us into thinking that we are in control.“

In all of these senses, the availability of social media and its algorithmic structures and its business model encourage, indeed almost require, acts of confession. They discipline us to express ourselves. This is subordinate to capitalism’s bigger structures, obviously (Chow didn’t title her book the way she did for nothing), but it is particular to surveillance capitalism because only a situation in which confession is a) very easy to do, b) incentivized by institutional, social, and infrastructural conditions, and c) able to be recorded and quantified serves that model of accumulation. There have always been people who wander the streets pouring out their life story (or ideas, or whatever) to anyone who will listen because they have no other means of feeling seen and recognized--of producing their own existence. But social media makes street preachers of us all, and our confessors are data brokers. Power is productive, and what it produces in us on social media is an endless torrent of confessional speech.

[enetarch-working-w-adhd]

Why do people with ADHD have Depression so much?

Studies show that by the time children with ADHD turn 12, they have heard 20,000 times more negative comments directed at them than a typical child does. The ADHD kid, like most kids, want to do things well and get praise, so they try as hard as they can to do things right!  However, more often than not, no one even notices the effort, and the child has over looked some detail, so they recieve more negative criticism.  This eventually ends up in a chronic sense of, “I can’t make anyone happy ... especially myself!”

The scars from being constantly reminded that it isn’t working by abusive family members, friends, community elders, and other people in authority, leads to a vicious cycle of trying, failing, comparing themselves, all while trying to navigate through the fog in their minds, due to low dopamine levels.  Which, leads to questions and self doubt about why people with ADHD are always one step behind everyone else, or an outsider.  This repeated disappointment and frustration snowballs easily into a negative thought cycle and depression.

People with ADHD get these negative comments because they forget details like: promises, birthdays, friends special moments, parties, or details of projects.  It appears that you’ve let others down, because you hyperfocused on a project you liked, or were lost in a depressive episode about something you screwed up again.  No matter how hard someone with ADHD tries, they will always let someone down.

The negative thought cycle is the key to ADHD Depression.

In order to break out of the depression, people with ADHD have to remember that their emotions are event driven. [ per Dr. Russell Barkley ].  In his discussion on the 30 Essential Ideas You Need to Know about ADHD, he discusses how the DSM excludes emotions from the diagnosis of ADHD, and that’s he’s working to get it back into the DSM.  The reason why it’s hard to classify emotions is that they are qualitative, not quantitative.  Thus, they are hard to categorize and show causality, vs coincidental relationships.  What is not coincidental and can be quantitatively tracked is how the emotions are affected by various types of events, real or imagined.

Since, people with ADHD have event driven emotions, the focus of stopping depressive cycles is in resolving the original event that cause the depressive episode to start.  This is akin to reversing a spell on Be Witched, where Sam has to figure out which spell was cast, then reverse it. The original event, is the original trigger that created a negative emotional response, which shot cortisol into the brain, which started the negative thoughts, which created more negative events, which shoots more cortisol into the brain, and so on.

The next step for the person with ADHD is to build an event driven emotion from something that generates positive events, and positive feelings.  The easiest practice to learn is to just breath. Taking a deep breathing feels good.  Meditation, is actually the easiest thing to learn. Many people with ADHD are curious and ask how to stop the thoughts in their head - positive or negative - because, they want to just have a clear minds for once.

Taking a deep breathing feels good.

Building a series of positive events takes practice and needs to become a default learned behavior, just as it’s the default learned behavior to self criticize.  These positive events create a series of positive emotions, which produce dopamine, which create positive thoughts, which create positive events, which create positive emotions ... And, so on.

People with ADHD fall out of this cycle because an external event restarts the negative thought cycle.  It doesn’t have to major, something small and tiny.  And, with practice, they can catch that negative event, sandwich it between positive events, and restart the positive event and self talk cycle.  Psychologists call this self soothing, or a coping mechanism.

People with ADHD need to learn how good taking a breath is.  Sitting down, breathing in deeply, and exhaling. Once, you have mastered this, then people with ADHD can move to the next level.  Learning how to create positive events, or arranging their day so that the majority of events are positive.

Creating Positive Events is Fun.

Creating positive events is easy.  It’s actually very easy. You just have to pay attention.  2 things that people with ADHD have lots of trouble with. Paying attention, and doing it right.  So, let’s make creating positive events as easy and simple as possible.  

Most people with ADHD become overloaded by the things they have to do, or don’t remember what those ToDo’s are.  So, first, they need to write down their ToDo’s as they pop into their head.  If they can’t get that ToDo out of their head, then they need to DO IT! otherwise, they become distracted by the thought of something they have to do it, over and over and over again.

1st thing, stop being overloaded.  Create 2 ToDo lists.  The first list contains all the things you had to do yesterday and days previous.  The second list contains all the things that HAVE TO BE DONE TODAY!, because today is all that matters to people with ADHD. Right NOW!

2nd thing, put on happy music. Not a video, but happy music.  If you need a bit more of a kick start into happy land, put on a short positive YouTube clip of Kittens or Puppies.  Or, something that you know, generates positive emotions for you.

3rd thing, people with ADHD need to sandwich negative tasks / negative events, between positive events.  Every time you look at a ToDo and have a negative reaction to it. that ToDo has to be placed between positive rewards.  Include, but not limited to a 5 course Steak Dinner.  Sometimes, the reward has to be so powerful, that it drives you right through the negative task / event.

4th thing, learn to arrange your events.  If you have a series of positive events lined up, you get shots of dopamine. The more happy juice you get, the easier, funner, happier things seem to be. And, the easier it is to keep negative thoughts out of your head.

There have been days where I’ve went from ToDo to ToDo to ToDo because I was driven by positive outcomes.  I could keep working till I was exhausted.  And, this will happen. At some point your dopamine production will be exhausted, and you can’t do anything anymore.  SLEEP!

5th thing, remember to sto and take a deep breath and feel how good it feels. And, remind yourself of how good things feel right now.  The more you do this, the more you cement this practice into coping skills, habits, routines, and your life in general.

6th thing, everytime a negative thought or criticism pops into your head, push back with a positive thought, about something you accomplished.  You did that!  And, remind yourself, that you’re no longer in the past. You’re here, in the present, in the moment, and you feel good.

7th thing, if there is something super important that has to be done that day, chant it like a montra until it is done.  Turn that ear worm into something useful. Take a song you like, and chang the words so that it contains the ToDo that you need to get done.  

8th thing, pay attention to body sensations. These will distract a person with ADHD, and derail their goals - completing the day’s ToDo’s.  Body sensations are hunger, aches and pains, cramps, itchy skin, or other things.  Write a note about what you were doing, set a time, set the note on the timer, and then take care of the body sensation.

How will you know that you’ve done it right, every time you do this right, you will get a shot of dopamine.

[straykidsramblings]

head over heels. [han jisung]

producer!han jisung x fem!reader feat. 3racha | college!au

word count: ~3.7K

genre: fluff

summary: Jisung falls head over heels (quite literally) for a girl and finds himself struggling to cope with the situation he’s placed himself in.

Jisung wouldn’t be able to tell you what possessed him to go running that morning, but that was just about the best decision he’d made since he chose Music Composition as his major at SK University. Maybe it was the fact that Chan had been talking about needing to go back to the gym. Maybe it was the fact that Changbin always wore muscle tees in the studio because, as he claimed, “it was too hot.” (Honestly, spring wasn’t that hot of a season.) Maybe it was the fact that Jeongin, the youngest of their friend group, had abs. Whatever the reason was, Jisung Han found himself on a run at 7:19 on a Tuesday morning.

As he stepped out of the dorm building, he immediately put in earphones before he faced any awkward silences. Jisung was a musically-oriented man. He also used this as an excuse to always be listening to some kind of music. Once the earphones were in, Jisung was out. Stretching lightly, he took one last deep breath before breaking into a steady jog.

He started out fairly okay. After all, Jisung had typically made healthy choices in life. It wasn’t that he didn’t work out. It wasn’t that he didn’t have stamina. It just wasn’t enough.

His course consisted of a lap around the [distance] campus. This early in the morning, Jisung was confident that no one would even be up to see him. The only people who would be awake are the suckers who had an 8 a.m. class. At that point, they’re usually too dead inside to even pay attention to him. He was off to a good start, pacing himself properly in order not to exhaust his stamina.

The cool air was nice against his skin as he ran. With the sun rising steadily, his surroundings shined with a golden glint. Jisung did enjoy the in morning jogs. Unfortunately, he wasn’t always awake at this time of the morning. Jisung was not exactly known for being a morning person after all.

He was about halfway around his course when he met her. He was just passing the neighboring town’s park when his brown eyes caught sight of a dog across the road. He supposed he had forgotten about people walking their dogs until it was too late to turn back. However, the girl who was walking the dog really caught Jisung’s attention.

She was captivating. Her hair color switched between two different colors depending on the angle of the rays of the sun. [eye color] eyes laughed lovingly at her dog as he pranced around in front of her. Her lips were curled into a smile as if she genuinely seemed to enjoy life. She seemed so at peace and content with life that Jisung couldn’t help but stare. He knew it was a little bit creepy, especially at 7:43 in the morning, but he just couldn’t focus on anything but her. He didn’t even notice he’d slow down his pace significantly to look at her for a little bit longer (again, he promised he was NOT a creep).

Was she his age? She looked it. Did she go to the same Uni? Hopefully.

As Jisung kept pondering over the unanswered questions, the girl finally noticed the intense stare that wouldn’t leave her alone. She turned to his direction.

The moment that their eyes met, Jisung felt his heart leap in his chest. She was looking at him; she was actually looking at him. She was just as gorgeous as he thought he was.

Jisung must have had some expression on his face because the girl started laughing at him. Jisung managed an awkward smile back. He was never this nervous around other girls who were only inches apart from him, but this girl walking on the other side of the road made him feel like he was about to have a heart attack. And then she waved. Jisung raised a shaking hand to wave back at her, but he felt himself fall before he was able to stop himself.

The next thing he remembered was staring up at the sky. His earphones had fallen out, so he was able to hear the bark of a dog coming closer to him. He shut his eyes as his mind registered the pain signals his body was sending.

“Are you okay?” a worried voice asked.

Hearing an unknown voice, Jisung slowly opened his eyes to see the girl of his dreams observing him with a concerned expression.

“Wow, you’re amazing,” Jisung mumbled.

“What?”

“…amazingly kind,” Jisung covered up to the best of his abilities with a small chuckle. He cleared his throat as the girl helped him sit up. He tried to act as natural as possible. “I guess this means I’ve fallen for you.”

“Well…” the girl started, clearly not wanting to explain. She was looking at something a little ways ahead of them. Her dog sat patiently beside her. “You fell for something.”

She bit her bottom lip (something Jisung found absolutely adorable) as she refrained herself from laughing. It was only then that Jisung had the mind to look at what she was looking at.

It was dog poop. Jisung had slipped and fallen because of dog poop. He could still see the streak his shoes made.

The embarrassment ran to his cheeks as his expression changed into one of terror. That was enough to ruin the girl’s failed attempt at not laughing. Although her laugh was beautiful and made Jisung wonder if that was the sound he would hear upon entering heaven, he wanted nothing more than to run away. He couldn’t look at her straight in the eyes.

“So, uh,” Jisung began although he didn’t exactly know where to go from there. “I’m probably just gonna go home and clean this.” Anything to get out of this situation.

“I’m so sorry,” the girl laughed apologetically. “I really shouldn’t be laughing.”

Jisung rose to his feet. “Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay. I would be laughing too if I were in your shoes. But the problem is that I’m in mine, and mine have dog poop on them so…”

Her laugh at his joke almost made the entire thing worth it. Almost.

“I’m just gonna go then,” Jisung forced a laugh before setting back on his course. He debated taking his shoe off, but then he would be walking around without any form of defense. He wasn’t sure which one was worse.

The girl waved goodbye to him, her dog happily standing on his four feet. She was smiling—at least that was good. Jisung decided to go back to the dorms as quickly as possible with as little damage as possible. Curse morning runs.

Jisung avoided working out for a few days after the incident. Instead, he poured more of his time into the studio that he shared with Changbin and Chan, two of his friends. The three of them often collaborated on songs. Their ultimate goal after Jisung (as the youngest) graduated was to form a trio of producers. While he enjoyed their company, his mind kept wandering back to the beautiful girl he had seen that one morning at 7:45 that morning. He didn’t even catch her name. Maybe that’s why he found himself walking one Friday morning in the park where he had met her.

He figured he could play it off as an 8 a.m. class on Friday, but he supposed he dressed a little too nicely for that. Most students with a morning class were dressed is sweat everything; Jisung elected to dress in a crewneck sweatshirt, his best pair of jeans, and his new Converse. Casual, but not sweatpants. Sweatpants were the epitome of indifference.

He tried to look as casual as possible, sticking his earphones in without actually listening to anything. His active eyes constantly glancing around at the area around him, he also occasionally checked his watch as naturally as possible. The time was 7:30, a little bit earlier than the last time he had met her, but he had faith that he would meet her again. Maybe her dog would do him a favor and insist on being taken out early.

He heard her before he saw her.

“Whoa, Milkshake, slow down!”

He assumed Milkshake was the name of her dog. Preparing himself mentally, he relaxed his muscles down to a casual stroll. He slowly put his hand into his pocket and began to whistle. He heard her angelic laugh as she approached him, his heart skipping a beat.

“What’s gotten into you, girl?” the girl laughed.

He felt the dog sniff around his feet, prompting him to a halt. The girl stared at the dog for a second longer before glancing up at the person that her animal had stopped. Judging by the enlightened expression on her face, she seemed to have remembered him.

“You’re the guy who slipped on dog poop,” the girl recalled. After realizing what she said and seeing Jisung chuckled awkwardly, she tried to play it off. “And the funny guy! I wish I could’ve talked to you longer before.”

That definitely managed to make him feel better.

“I’m guessing you have a class since you’re not dressed to run?”

Jisung cleared his throat, removing his earphones to hang them around his neck. “Oh yeah, I’ve got this dumb 8 a.m. class on Fridays. It kinda sucks.”

The girl hummed. “So, I’ve heard. I was careful not to take any.”

“Oh, so do you go here too?” Jisung asked, possibly a little too excitedly. He yelled at himself in his head.

The girl nodded with a smile. She didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, but I live really close by, so I just live off campus. It’s cheaper on my family that way too since they don’t have to pay for room and boarding.”

Jisung tried not to let his excitement get to his face as the two began to walk side-by-side together. It was so natural too, Milkshake trotting ahead of them. Jisung was careful not have any more mishaps.

“Oh, I’m [name], by the way,” she introduced herself. “[name] [last name].”

“Jisung Han,” replied Jisung.

“You know, if you’re heading to a class, I can walk with you. If you’re okay with that, of course. I would be out walking Milkshake anyway, so, if you don’t mind the company, I’d love to keep talking.”

The nervousness was starting to set in again. The effect she had on him was really no joke. His palms were beginning to feel clammy, so he rubbed them against the side of his jeans as nonchalantly as possible. He wasn’t sure if the lump in his throat would make his voice crack or make him cry. He couldn’t maintain eye contact with her for too long in case he wouldn’t be able to look anywhere else again. He would be tempted to only look at her. How could one person be so perfect to him?

“Yeah, I’d love some company!” Jisung exclaimed, attempting a smile. It felt forced, but did it look it?

“Great! So, where are we headed?”

“Uh…” Considering the fact that Jisung was actually not on his way to an 8 a.m. class, the question required more thought than most. “The Math and Science building.”

He was doing this to himself.

“Oh, really? What are you studying?”

“…biochemistry.”

Jisung, a producer, knew next to nothing about biochemistry. He had no idea what possessed him to say that. He wanted to blame it on the way that she was making him feel, but, instead, he knew it was because of his own stupidity.

“That is so cool, Jisung!”

And suddenly, his mind was only filled with thoughts of her.

“I’m an English major myself. I’m not really one for mathematics and sciences, but I’ve always wanted to be good at them,” she continued, not noticing Jisung’s struggle to keep his lies alive.

He forced a laugh. If he explained the truth now, it would be simpler. “It’s kind of tough, but I enjoy the work.” He really was just trying to screw himself over at this point.

The two continued talking about themselves and their hobbies, their likes and their dislikes, anything that managed to come up. They discovered that they did not have many mutual friends, but, after sharing a couple of funny stories about their different friend groups, both of them agreed that they would definitely need their close friends to meet each other. The walk to the Math and Science building seemed too short, but [name] and Jisung were both too talkative to end it there. They exchanged phone numbers to keep in touch with each other and soon found themselves falling into a routine every Friday morning. As much as Jisung wanted to become closer to her, he hated lying to her.

“Chan, what do I do?” Jisung cried one day when he, Chan, and Changbin were all chilling in a studio together.

Legs dangling off of the edge, Jisung was lying on the couch in the back of the studio as Chan was tweaking Changbin’s rap demo. The rapper had only stepped back into the studio room as Jisung started his complaining. Jisung kicked defiantly.

“I didn’t mean to lie to her, but one thing lead to another, and, now, I’m knee-deep in lies. But there’s something about this girl. She’s different from any other girl. It’s like every crush I’ve ever had up until her was just leading me to her. She makes me so nervous, and I forget what I’m trying to say when I’m trying to say it. But she’s so kind and lets me take my time. And she’s absolutely gorgeous too with the most adorable laugh which really doesn’t help because I find myself staring at her, and that’s considered creepy. The last thing I want to do is creep her out, and—“

“Chan, please tell him whatever he wants to hear so he’ll shut up,” Changbin hissed, resting his head on his palm as he sat down on the free side of the couch. He was clearly exhausted from long nights of studying and producing. They all were.

Jisung pouted but turned to the oldest nonetheless. Chan, on the other hand, released an exasperated sigh. “I mean, Jisung, what else is there to do but just tell her the truth? Just explain everything to her. From what you’ve told us about her, she sounds like she’d understand.”

“I know…” Jisung mumbled with a huff. “I’m just scared and embarrassed, I guess. Scared because I don’t want her to hate me, and embarrassed for lying in the first place.” He released another sigh, beating himself up mentally. “I didn’t mean to lie. I just get so nervous around her.”

Changbin shifted his head to look at his friend. Jisung looked miserable, staring up at the ceiling with his arms going in every direction. His legs kicked rhythmically against the side of the couch in an attempt to amuse himself. Every ten seconds, his face would contort into a distinct expression of terror or sadness. Changbin could only guess his thoughts.

“Well, it hurts to see you like this. So, if you don’t tell her, Chan and I always can.”

“No!” Jisung shot up with a start. “Telling her myself is bad enough. I’m not about to let my friends tell her in my place.”

“Then, get your act together and tell her!” Changbin barked, making a move to kick the younger boy off the couch. He didn’t actually, but Jisung moved to defend himself.

Jisung looked to Chan for support but found none. He huffed once more, sitting up straight. The time was coming. He’d have to tell her eventually.

“Jisung!”

[name] calling out his name made Jisung’s heart skip a beat. He began to panic. It wasn’t Friday. On second thought, he wasn’t anywhere near the park. He was walking back to the cafeteria from the studio. Jisung had never turned around quicker.

“[name]…!” Jisung returned with as much feigned enthusiasm as he could. His lie was falling apart in front of him (although that was kind of what he needed??). “Wha-What are you doing here? I thought the English department normally stayed on the east side of campus.”

“Well, I was in the area, visiting my roommate, and I figured I’d stop by and see you.”

She smiled. Why was she smiling?

“Uh… so, how’d you know I’d be here?”

[name] motioned towards the same building that Jisung had just walked out of, the one that houses all of the studios that all musically-inclined majors used.

“My roommate is a Commercial Music major,” [name] admitted.

Wait.

“So, I’ve kinda known who you were since we met. You, Changbin, and Chan are pretty popular among the female student body after all.”

Jisung felt like he was facing his first exam in high school. He could not wrap his mind around what exactly was going on or how popular he really was.

“But-But-But—“

“So, I know you’re a Composition major, I know you don’t have an 8 a.m. class for biochemistry, and I know that you lied to me about everything.”

“Not everything!” Jisung exclaimed in a panic. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “I, uh, meant it when I said I fell for you.”

When [name] crossed her arms over her chest, Jisung knew he wouldn’t have much time to explain, but he had to tell her the truth.

“Okay, the truth is… I’m really not good around girls. I mean, I don’t think I was terrible. I didn’t flirt nearly as much as Minho, but that’s not the point. I’m nervous around girls, and then I met you, and that nervousness hit me like a truck because you’re so different than any other girl I met. The first time we met, I was so embarrassed, but I wanted to see you again. So, I thought of an excuse to be there around the park without looking like a crazy stalker—I’m not a stalker, I promise—but I was traumatized because of the, um, incident from last time. So, I figured the safest way to casually run into you again would be if I had an 8 a.m. class in that area, but none of my classes are over there, so, one thing led to another, and I’m so sorry that I lied. I’m not trying to justify my lying, but to explain, I was so nervous around you. And then, the more I got to know you, I started developing feelings for you, but I didn’t want you to hate me for lying to you. I really didn’t mean any harm.”

[name] stared at him for a good minute, silently taking in Jisung’s confession. Underneath her intense gaze, Jisung felt a lump form in his throat. The heartbeat in his chest sounded louder with every second that passed. He wanted to look away from her [eye color] eyes, but he felt that, if he did, she’d be gone. That was the last thing he wanted.

“Is there anything else that you lied about? I mean, how do I know you didn’t lie about half of the other stuff we would talk about?”

“No!” Jisung insisted. “Everything else I said was true. I really do love cheesecake, but I’m thinking I’m falling in love with chocolate more. I really do need glasses, but I prefer contacts although I always feel like I’m going to poke my eye. And yes, I really do shriek every time. I really do have trypophobia, but I enjoy general horror like jump scares in movies and haunted houses. The list could go on, but I’m sure you don’t want to listen to me talk, so the last thing I’ll mention is that I really do want to spend time with you and get to know you more because I like you.”

He couldn’t stop the words before they had come out. His eyes widened. He supposed that was out in the open.

It was the first time he’d gotten a surprised reaction out of [name], but it vanished in an instant. She smiled at him, the same angelic smile that he had seen weeks ago. Maybe she didn’t hate him.

“Well, I’m glad because I like you too, Jisung,” [name] confessed with a small giggle. She clicked her tongue. “Although, I’ve kind of had a crush on you since before we met.”

“What? How?”

“Like I said, the three of you producers are pretty popular on campus! And I’ve seen you working hard in the studio when I would visit my roommate. I thought you were pretty cute. Next thing I know, you’re waving to me when you’re on a run, and then you’re tripping over dog poop. I suppose I have known this entire time that you were lying about your major, but I’m glad it was just due to nervousness. I didn’t think it could be anything else, but I wanted you to be the one to tell me yourself.”

Jisung wasn’t sure what to say at this point. He just stared at her with brown eyes widened ever so slightly. He took in everything about her, searching for any indication of how he should react. The amused smirk on her lips made his heart flutter. Her [eye color] eyes shimmered with mischief. While she stood in a defensive position, she didn’t seem angry at the slightest.

“Are you sure you’re not an Acting major?” Jisung finally asked with a small laugh.

Her bright giggle filled the air around them as she relaxed her stance. “No, I’m an English major.”

“So,” Jisung cleared his throat. Now or never, Jisung. “What does a Music Composition Major have to do to get a date with an English major?”

[name] hummed, pretending to ponder. Or maybe she was genuinely thinking. Jisung couldn’t tell. “Well, you’ve already slipped on dog poop for me… so, let’s say we’re equal.”

“Dinner tonight?”

When she smiled bashfully, Jisung knew that he was hooked.

“Pick me up at 7.”

Maybe Jisung was still afraid to go on runs, but he couldn’t help but be grateful because it allowed him to meet [name].

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Resurgence

A Jacksepticeye Fanfiction

Part Sixteen: Enough is Enough

First Part | Previous | Next

Summary: Marvin’s run away AGAIN, so the others have to go find him. And while out looking, Schneep has an...encounter.

(FINALLY! This has been in my drafts so long that it actually still has one of those horizontal lines that break up text. You know, the ones Tumblr got rid of for no discernible reason. Anyway, it’s been a long time, I’ve written it, it’s not perfect, but it’s done. Hope you guys like it! And hope it’s worth the wait djkafhd)

“Is he insane?!”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re all losing it.”

“Chase this is not a time for jokes.” Schneep reread Marvin’s note for a third time before crumpling it into a ball and pitching it at the nearest wall. “Aaugh! ‘Safer without him,’ that is bullshit! If anything, we would be safer with him here. But no, he decides to go ahead and fucking leave the moment we get him back!”

That’s something he would do, JJ remarked wryly.

“But it is not something he should do,” Schneep grumbled, folding his arms.

I never said it was, JJ pointed out. And, because it is something he shouldn’t do, I propose we undo what he’s done.

“You mean...go find him?” Chase laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Um, last time he disappeared, it was only because of luck, and maybe Sam, that we found him again. How are we going to find him this time?”

Well, we need to try, don’t we? JJ signed. We can’t just let him go out into the city on his own, especially not when you-know-who is active again.

“Jameson is right,” Schneep said, pacing about the floor. “We must find him again, or risk losing two of our friends. Does anyone know places he likes to visit?”

Chase shook his head. “Nothing’s really coming to mind. Jays?”

JJ had taken out his pocket watch and was fiddling with the chain. He stopped to sign, He might have found some of the underground magic circles while he was away.

“Wait, wait, did you just...did you just say ‘underground magic gatherings’?” Chase repeated.

JJ nodded. Of course. You didn’t think Marvin was the only magician, did you? There are many of them, and I’m sure that, given his runaway status at the time, Marvin would have been attracted to those pockets that gather on the edge of society, where many frequent.

“Well then, how do we find these places?” Schneep asked, stopping his pacing, eyes glued to JJ.

I’m...not quite sure. The signs were slow, hesitant. There are a variety of hidden places to find, and they could be in any location, not to mention they could constantly shift in order to stay out of unkind eyes. We might have best luck just wandering around until we see something off.

“We can do that, then,” Schneep said definitively. “Come on, no time like the present.” He started toward the door.

“Doc, wait,” Chase called. “This...this is a little fast, isn’t it?”

Schneep halted. He whirled on Chase. “What? Are you saying we should waste time twadeling our thumbs?! Is Marvin not your friend too?!”

“I didn’t say that at all!” Chase protested. “I’m just saying we might need a more definitive plan! I know that’s rich, coming from me, but you know what? You’re always saying that it’s no good to anyone if we collapse from exhaustion or hunger or something, and I dunno about you but my head is still kinda fuzzy and I want to get it un-fuzzed before we do anything crazy.”

At least get something to eat first, JJ suggested.

Schneep stared at the apartment door for a few silent moments before concluding that he was, indeed, pretty hungry and it might be a bad idea to go search the city on an empty stomach. But god, was he considering doing it anyway.

“Henrik...” Chase said, a warning in his voice. “Do you need me to Vulcan nerve pinch you?”

“No, no, I...you are right,” Schneep sighed. “But we are having a very quick breakfast.”

That’s fair, JJ signed.

An hour later, the three of them were out on the streets of the city, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious that could help. That wasn’t exactly easy, though, as none of them knew what they were looking for. Jameson implied that he had a rough idea, but when pressed by the others he refused to answer. Given the details of his past, they could only assume talking about this knowledge would bring up bad memories.

They decided to start near the edges of the city and work their way in, figuring that Marvin would want to get as far away as possible if he was really sure that getting away from them was the right thing to do. From there, it was a matter of where they wanted to start. The northern section of the city was remote, but also fairly dangerous, so they decided to skip there. The western and southern sections were mostly residential, with the south being a little more suburban, and that meant lots of people around who could see someone in a mask and get suspicious, so odds were Marvin might not have headed there. Not to mention that JJ and Chase actually lived in those parts. So that left the east, which was mostly industrial and electrical, and also pretty remote. They’d start there, then gradually look in other places.

“Hope this works,” Chase muttered, glancing around the short concrete buildings. In the distance loomed a structure of wires and pylons. “I think we’re trespassing right now.”

“Well, if we are, there is no signs of anyone who could see us,” Schneep pointed out.

“Are no signs,” Chase corrected absentmindedly. “Jays, anything stand out?”

JJ slowly shook his head. In truth, he looked a little disoriented. He’d caught on fairly quickly to the everyday modern technology, but this new array of electrical equipment was confusing. He couldn’t tell what was out of place if it all looked strange to him.

Schneep growled. “This is taking forever! And there is still the rest of the city! We must go faster!” Accordingly, he sped up a bit.

“Uhh...” Chase sped up to be even with him, JJ walking a little bit behind the two. “Doc, aren’t you worried we might miss something? Or get tired?”

“I am not getting tired! And if you two would rather take time when Marvin could be in any sort of trouble, then you are free to do so, but not me!” And he broke into a run.

He didn’t know where he was going. He could hear Chase calling after him, but he didn’t look back, and he didn’t stop. Eventually, he couldn’t hear him anymore. And when he realized that, that was when he slowed down. He...hadn’t actually thought he’d be able to outrun those two. He must’ve been faster than he expected. Or Chase and Jameson were slower than he expected, also possible.

Somehow, he’d ended up in what looked like an area for producing electricity. There were wires and pylons and coils everywhere. Schneep was sort of confused as to how he got here...didn’t these sort of places usually have walls and fences? Had he run through an open gate and not notice? Well...he did sort of forget to pay attention to things when he got angry. And once he thought that, he realized just how mad he was. Not at Chase and Jameson, not at Marvin either. There wasn’t even really anything to set him off, why had he gotten so upset that he felt he needed to run away?

Well, now it was fading, and now he felt awful for leaving the other two behind. Schneep sighed. He’d have to go back and find them, but he wasn’t sure where they were. Guess he could text them...he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, quickly unlocking it and opening up a new text. Quickly, he typed, I am sorry I ran like that. I was not thinking straight. Where are you? I am in a electrical generation area, I can come find you or you can find me.

While he was waiting for a response, he looked around the area a bit more. He should probably leave anyway. Who knew what could go wrong in a place like this?

The little text alert noise sounded. He looked back down at the screen, only to find that the response made no sense. It was all garbled letters. Was Chase trying to type while running again? But no. As he watched, the letters changed, the message shortening and morphing but remaining just as nonsensical. Until it finally resolved into a single question:

Did you miss ḿ͟é?

Schneep shrieked and immediately dropped his phone. It landed in the gravel covering the ground with a crunch. He backed away until he felt his back hit the base of one of the pylons. For a while, he could only stare at the phone from where it lay on the ground. He could feel his heart about to pound out of his ribcage. Maybe it hadn’t really happened. Maybe he’d imagined it.

Against his better judgement, he cautiously walked back over. He stopped some ways away, and instead of picking the phone back up, he leaned forward and peered at the screen. The message was still there. As he watched, the message deleted itself like someone was pressing the backspace button, to be replaced by a new one: What’s wrong, mein lieber Artz? Shouldn’t you be used to this by now? It’s been ten months after all.

He made a sound halfway between a gasp and a strangled squeak, then covering his mouth in shock. No, no no no, this was a trick, it was—he was lying! This couldn’t be just another illusion. He looked around. It was real. It was really here, he could feel the slight breeze, see the sunlight reflecting off far-off windows, hear the quiet electrical whine—

The sound that was always there, it never stopped, always a faint electrical humming or whining, only broken by the crackle of static—

“No!” He covered his ears, hands pressing so hard it almost hurt. That sound didn’t mean anything, this place generated electricity, of course that sound would be there. Even—even if that place had a similar sound, it meant nothing! It didn’t mean that he was still...

“But d̷oe̴sn̶'t it?”

At the sound of the voice inside his head, he yelled, spinning around in a circle to see if he was near. There was nothing he could see, but there was a slight flicker in the corner of his eyes, a shadow of a smiling face. He turned and turned and turned but could never see him fully. His feet were kicking up gravel like crazy, but all he knew was that he—was that Anti was laughing at him.

“You really thought I’d just l͢et ̷yo͡u ̀go? Or did you think you were clever enough to get away? It’s been fun watching you scramble about, but now it is time for the truth to come out.”

“You are lying!” he screamed. The sound echoed through the empty area, bouncing off the metal pylons and coils. And as if he’d poured all his adrenaline-fueled fear into that yell, he fell to his knees, not minding how the gravel bit into his legs, and wrapped his arms around himself. This was real. This was real. It had to be real.

“It doesn’t ‘have to be’ anything.”

Schneep flinched at the words that responded to his thoughts. He looked around, and when he faced forward again he saw a hint of a shadow. Just barely there, could easily be overlooked as a trick of the light, unless you knew better. Unless you could make out the silhouette of a person grinning down at you.

There was a trick here somewhere. But was that trick in the here and now, with Anti trying to fool him into thinking it’s all a lie? Or had the entire past week or so been nothing but an illusion? Was he still in that awful place? Were the others really with him, or was he alone? His breathing was quickening, and tears were filling his eyes. He didn’t know. He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t tell, he couldn’t tell if it was fake or real, what was he supposed to do? He needed help, he needed someone—

Someone had been there before. Last time he’d had a breakdown like this, someone had been there to help him pick up the pieces. And all the times since then, there was always someone around to ground him when he started to spiral. What had their advice been?

Start by breathing slowly, controlling it manually. Focus on something besides the thoughts in your head. In...out...in...out...And then find something solid to notice. Like the feeling of the gravel beneath his knees. The breeze. The sun, high in the sky.

This would usually be followed up with reminders that he’s safe now, but...that couldn’t really be true, could it? Not when he could clearly see the shadow in front of him. Staring at him. Waiting for something.

And as he stared back, he slowly realized the tears were still threatening his eyes. No more than a few had slipped out. Was...was that was he was waiting for? For him to fall entirely to pieces? Of course it was. That was what Anti was all about. Tearing people apart and smiling while he did it.

Schneep slowly stood up, keeping his eyes on the shadow the whole time. He thought he somehow...sensed that the smile was fading, even though he couldn’t see anything in this basic outline. “Get. Away,” he said in a low voice.

The shadow’s head tilted sideways. “And what if I don’t? What are you going to do about it?”

“It is not about what I am going to do, is about what I am not going to do.” He stepped forward. “And I am not going to break apart for your fucking amusement. I do not care what you say, I do not care what you do, I do not fucking care about your attempts to make me afraid!” His voice had risen to a shout at this point. “Get away from me! You do not get to laugh at my tears anymore!”

For a moment, Anti’s shadow was still, unmoving. Then he spoke. “Perhaps for now. You have a bigger part to play, d̨o͢c̀tor͟.” And the shadow faded away, leaving nothing but an echoing “I’l͟l s̢e͢e̴ y҉ou̢ a͞ga͝in.”

Schneep was left alone. He felt like he’d just run a mile, heart pounding and surprisingly out of breath. But he also felt...relieved.

“Henrik!”

He spun around at the sound of the voice. Chase and JJ were weaving their way in between the various pylons toward him. “Oh! Hello!” He walked toward them, meeting them.

“Dude, what happened?” Chase asked. “You never responded to my text. I mean, you texted me first, you know, but when I asked you for more details you never answered.” He glanced behind Schneep. “Did you...drop your phone?”

“...ah.” Schneep wasn’t too keen on picking that back up, but he guessed he had to. He quickly walked back over, grabbed it, and checked the screen. Chase’s response text was now clearly visible. He hurriedly tucked it into his pocket as he returned to the other two. “There...is a reason for that.” He took a deep breath, looking both Chase and JJ in the eyes briefly. “He was here.”

Chase gaped, a horrified expression on his face. JJ’s eyes widened, and he launched immediately into signing. Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Do you need any help? Are you...okay? The second time asking the question, it was clear JJ was talking about more than just being physically alright.

Schneep gave a small smile. “I am fine. Really,” he insisted, seeing the doubt on the other two’s faces. “I was having some trouble, but I managed to sort it all out.” His eyes hardened. “He is not going to get that satisfaction.” Never again. It didn’t matter what happened, he refused to give Anti what he wanted.

Chase and JJ exchanged glances. If you insist... JJ signed.

“I do insist. In fact, I am sorry to you two about running away. I do not know what I was thinking.”

“You were thinking that you’re worried and frustrated, so you turned it into anger because that’s the easy thing for you, and when we said anything that just made it worse because it wasn’t making the worry go away, so you decided to just get away from the situation altogether.” Chase said this whole spiel in a voice that was almost monotone. He cracked a smile at Schneep’s astonished face, though. “What? Dude, I’ve known you for years now, I’ve figured out how you work.”

Schneep shook his head, laughing softly. “Okay, okay. Now I think we should continue with the search. Maybe in a...different area of the city.”

“Good idea. C’mon, let’s go.” 

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

It was starting to get into late afternoon, and the three of them hadn’t seen any sign of Marvin yet. The three of them decided to stop and take a break for food. They settled down at a little restaurant that was close to the industrial district, but still within the confines of the bustling business part of the city. None of them recognized it or had ever been there before, but it was the nearest place to eat.

“People are staring at us...” Chase remarked, looking around the restaurant.

They probably think we’re triplets, JJ signed, shrugging.

“Probably...” Chase’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why do we look so much alike anyways?”

“Genetics are strange,” Schneep remarked. “Did you know that every person has seven people in the world who look just like them?”

“And...what, most of us just happened to meet each other?”

“Precisely. It is a strange coincidence, but that is all it is.” Schneep’s voice was firm, shutting down all attempts at arguing.

JJ, however, was not fooled. You seem awfully ready to convince us that a coincidence is, indeed, all it is. Is something the matter?

Schneep leaned back in his chair and sighed, staring out the window their table was sitting next to. “There were...many strange things he said.” The words came out slowly. “Very many...unusual things about how our world works. I think he said them just to torment me, but...they have a habit of sticking around.”

For a moment, everyone was silent. The air seemed a bit heavier than it was before, weighed down with unspoken things. “And...he talked about why we all look the same?” Chase asked softly. “Obviously you don’t have to answer, but if you want to...”

“I feel safe in telling you that he did,” Schneep said slowly, looking back at the others. “About us, and him, and...and Jack.” The last word was whispered.

“Henrik, you’re kinda...you look uncomfortable,” Chase said. “Why don’t we talk about something else? Like, uhhhh, the weather! Let’s talk about the weather.”

Schneep laughed. “Yes, it is very fine weather. You could not think of anything better?”

“Gimme a break, I’m not creative!” Chase fell silent as he listened to a voice call out his name. “Oh, sounds like our order’s ready. I might need help carrying the food, either of you volunteer?” Schneep shot a pair of death daggers at him with his eyes. “Alright then. JJ?”

Jameson wasn’t paying attention. He was staring with some intent out the window.

“Jays? You alright?” Chase asked.

When there was still no answer, Schneep joined in. “Jamie, is there something concerning you?”

Do the two of you see that shop opposite this one? JJ asked. Chase and Schneep looked out the window. The other shop was a clothing store, and it looked closed. In fact, it looked like it had been closed for a long, long time. The display window was sprinkled with dust. Is it just me, or does it have a rather...unusual symbol on its awning?

Chase squinted. “I...guess? It’s just a design, bro.”

JJ shook his head, suddenly bouncy with excitement. No, I recognize that. It’s a rune! Not a very common one, but a rune nonetheless.

“And you mean to say...that this ‘rune’ is magic?” Schneep asked. “That shop might be one of these hidden places we were trying to find?”

Possibly. Runes are always magical, or magickal! JJ spelled out the two variations of the word so there could be no confusion. And it’s worth taking a crack at it. We don’t have anything to lose and a lot to gain.

“Huh. Well, why not?” Chase shrugged. “But can we do that after lunch? Or, I guess it’s actually ‘linner’ at this point.” He laughed to himself.

Yes, yes, nothing wrong with filling up first. It’d most likely be problematic to rush into a magician’s lair on an empty stomach.

“Well. I’m gonna go get out food then.” Chase scooted his chair back and stood up. “Don’t mind me. Carrying it back to the table all by myself. All alone.”

“Good luck with that, my friend,” Schneep smirked. JJ giggled silently.

“Oh, screw you two.” Chase flipped them a friendly gesture before walking away, leaving the others snickering behind their hands.

He really should be more polite with those hands of his, JJ signed.

“Indeed.” Schneep stared out the window once more.

Maybe this trip wouldn’t be a total waste. Even if they found nothing, he felt that something was gained.

[overdrivels]

Omg, emotionally stunted Hanzo and hesitant hand-holding! Like, after all he's put himself through, his emotions are barely coming back online and his inner monologue is just "hands?!?!" and considerable flailing when in this case Chef grabs his hand "so we don't get separated!"

Hggggggghhhhh I wrote something like this some time ago and I constantly rethink it, hoping that one day I’ll be able to actually include it in the actual story. BUT WAIT. LET ME DO YOU ONE BETTER.

Please have another revisit from a different point of view.

The air, crisp with the snap of an impending winter, chills your lungs as you breath it in. It feels liberating.

The market is as busy as you remember it. Medication and a lengthy preparation time kept you sleeping past the normal time you’d be up and about, searching for the juiciest, freshest, and tastiest of produce. But at 0830, most of them were already snatched up by other more savvy people and chefs who have likely returned back to their kitchens to celebrate their prizes. Now only the more casual crowd remained, a steadily surging crowd.

Agent Hanzo stands right at your elbow, being one of the few agents who were awake when you were plotting to leave and caught you in the act of trying to disconnect yourself from the supplies that are theoretically keeping you healthy. (You’re fine. You can stand and walk with minimal trouble, so a few hours outside shouldn’t be an issue.)

“It is not safe by yourself. I shall accompany you,” he declared like it was a given.

You just didn’t have the energy to fight him. After a few failed attempts to even stand up from your bed, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to have him around in case your body decided to betray you. Athena, bless her, was blissfully complacent in letting you both go once you promised you would take it easy and forced Hanzo to take responsibility for protecting you (and that you’d both return by lunchtime; she threatened to send other agents after you both and you shudder to think of the commotion that would cause).

So far, Hanzo’s been attentive and pleasant company with an occasionally sharp comment that is more witty than barbed and a helpful hanp.

“Is there anything you’d like for lunch or dinner today?”

“Are you so unwell that you are now taking requests?” he asks incredulously, glancing at you briefly with a raised eyebrow before sweeping the crowd with his eyes.

“Very funny, Agent Hanzo. I’m serious.” You pick up a radish and look it over. You can make radish curry with this. Agent Symmetra would probably like that–something closer to home–or maybe radish salad, or garlic roasted radish with feta cheese, or maybe even grate it into a yogurt sauce. “Since you decided to accompany me, it’s the least I could do.” You didn’t have much else you could give to him or do for him anyway.

He scoffs, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth shows it’s not as condescending or mean as it sounds. “Anything you can make without dropping.”

“That was once! And you dropped way more things than I did.”

“The magnitude is greater,” Hanzo says flippantly, lifting the heavy bags he held so easily back into view. “Whatever you plan on making with this will be payment enough, I’m sure.”

Somehow, you couldn’t help flush a little, unsure if it is meant to be genuine or teasing.

“If you don’t decide soon, I’ll make pepper soup.”

Hanzo just laughs, a light and actually jovial laugh that makes you flush a little brighter. It’s a stupid threat especially against an Overwatch agent, but it’s all you have. But even so, he didn’t have to make fun of you.

“I’m really going to do it, Agent Hanzo.”

He looks at you, a challenging gleam in his eyes that you’ve seen far too many times from other ill-fated agents who think the kitchens are a game. The look makes you burn just beneath your skin.

“Aren’t you supposed to reward me for my services?”

“And I will,” you say with a firm determination. “I promise.”

He has nothing to say to that, but the look on his face speaks for him: we shall see.

For the remainder of your shopping trip, Hanzo remains a quiet but intimidating presence behind you as you continued to pick out your produce. Hanzo still says nothing even after moving through several other booths where you take your time to buy and bargain for large and colorful peppers. He wordlessly takes your bags as you get them, refusing to return them to you even after you kick up a small fuss that quickly exhausts you.

A heavy weight in the middle of your back nearly makes you jump out of your skin and you clench your teeth to hold back the noise of pain that tries to crawl its way out of your throat.

At your ear, Hanzo mutters, “Come.” Without even waiting for an answer, he begins to steer you away. 

“Is someone following us?”

He doesn’t answer, weaving his way in and out of the crowd with you held close to his side. Absentmindedly, you realize he’s quite warm amidst the autumn air. As sharp and callous as Hanzo is, he sure is comfortable. It’s presumptuous, but maybe you could ask him if you could take a nap against him when he has the time. Maybe for half an hour or so. Just once.  

You’re startled out of your thoughts with a quick jostle. “Chef, hurry.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Stay beside me.”

“Do you see something?”

Again, he doesn’t answer.

You can see him scanning the area as though seeking a route. The number of people have thinned considerably, leaving you both exposed. Hanzo keeps you by the walls of what buildings are around, but those are quickly becoming sparse, too. There’s a constant flex in his jaw and it’s clear to see he’s a little agitated.

“Oh!”

You reach for one of his hands–it’s also very warm and very large–and begin to pull with what strength you had even as he tries to snatch it back. You both need to stay together and this is the best way to ensure it even though you’re very sure he can keep up against your injured self.

“Wh—”

“This way.”

You know Gibraltar better. You know its secrets and its truths and exactly how to lose people here. Hanzo, perhaps knowing this, follows obediently after you–he has no choice, you have his hand.

The bags are definitely slowing you both down and a small ache begins to settle around your stomach and sides–the pain medication must be reaching its end, but you push forward through small alleyways that barely fit the both of you until you both made it into the Siege Tunnels where you both took turn after turn into the winding dimness.

“We…we should be safe here,” you huff.

He nods and says nothing, both of you listening, backs pressed against the chilly stone walls, listening for anything beside the echoes of the whispering wind or cries of the many macaques that call these tunnels their stomping ground.

The darkness makes it hard to see anything, but it only makes everything else just so much more apparent especially the proximity between yourself and your bodyguard for a day. You notice you still have his hand in a death grip but you refrain from saying anything: there’s no telling if the danger has passed yet and you didn’t want to risk making any more noise (and he hasn’t tried to pull away again after the first time). It’s embarrassing and downright childish, but you had to admit you felt just a little safer just having him beside you as a solid and warm presence.

You’ve worked alone for so long, it was nice to be in such close proximity with someone who is not looking to you for orders or putting the pressure of work on you. How many years has it been since you were free of expectations? When was the last time you stopped vying for the approval of others?

It must have been a long, long time. All of your actions had you wrung out and stressed, looking over your shoulder at every whisper and imagined gaze. Were the UN after you? Was the Head Chef there? Were your staff watching your every move and judging you? You didn’t ever feel certain even as you rose higher and higher in the world–it felt like each step toward what most people would consider to be an ‘accomplishment’, you became one step closer to uncertainty, trapped by silver walls and isolated from everyone else around you.

This impromptu trip was a good idea even if it made your muscles hurt. Agent Hanzo didn’t judge you, didn’t try to give unnecessary praise or respect, or treat you any lesser. He’s good company with a discerning eye and even better jabs. Maybe next time you decide to sneak out, you’ll tell him first.

Somehow, you realize you’ve closed your eyes as you were thinking. The cool stone at your back and the warmth at your side is intoxicatingly comforting, the shoulder beneath your head is a little hard—  

“Oh! I’m so sor—” You bite your words back, forgetting momentarily you both were on the run, a chill running up and down your skin because what if–.

“It’s fine. I believe we are clear.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Great. We can take this tunnel straight back to the Watchpoint. It’s a bit of a walk, but I think it’ll be faster than going back outside.”

You push yourself off the wall with a grunt of effort. After running around so much and taking a break, your muscles refused to cooperate. Hanzo gives you a strong pull with the hand you have gripped tight.  

Again, you flush with the realization. The danger has passed, there’s no reason to keep holding hands.

“Sorry, I didn’t really–I can let go, if you’d like? This must be stopping you from doing your job.”

A contemplative look crosses his face, but it’s difficult to tell in the dark. After a moment’s pause, he gives your hand an experimental squeeze and says, “No. We’ll stay like this. So you cannot get lost in the dark.”

There’s a hint of a wicked smirk in his voice that’s somewhat playful and again, a warmth blooms just underneath your skin; a mix of embarrassment and indignity.

“I can find my way around with my eyes closed!”

“Shall we try? I will not warn you of walls, just so you are aware.” Regardless, he walks with you, close to your side.

“I don’t want Athena to send a team after us, so next time!”

“Next time.” The way he says those words sounds like he’s testing them in his mouth. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, but you swear you can hear his smile. “Next time.”

[shipmistress9]

The Last Dragon: Chapter 2 - Where A Dragon Walks On Man’s Road

AN: Okay, this took way longer than I'd expected. I feel sorry for that, but then, this story isn't meant to be updated regularly.

And trying to answer that question in the reviews... This story won't stick very closely to the original, and if you've ever read others of my stories and/or the AN in those, you know that I'm generally a sucker for happy endings.

. o O o .

After the decision to go against Grimmel and free the dragons had been made, Hiccup wanted to directly jump up into the sky and fly off. Now that he had a goal, a plan, waiting any longer was jarring to the dragon. However, he needed these humans to reach his goal, and it still took a while before they could start their journey. The Sorcerer, whose name turned out to be Elkhart, and his daughter needed time to pack all those things they didn't want to leave behind and to prepare provisions. So Hiccup rolled up next to the house, watched them, grumbling to himself, and tried to find solace in at least not having to disguise his appearance as long as he was at the Sorcerer's home. But he was glad when, over one and half days later, they were finally ready to get going.

It was a slow journey. Hiccup hadn't really known just how slow travelling on foot was until he had two human travel companions. Sure, he probably could have carried them both on his back and maybe even their backpacks, too, with how the Sorcerer had enchanted them to be lighter. But the old man had advised them to not act suspiciously in any way. If they wanted to have even the slightest chance against Grimmel and his power, then they would need every advantage they could get. And that certainly included the element of surprise.

The dragon could see the wisdom in the human’s words, for a dragon in flight was sure to draw more attention than a normal travelling group. But the slow pace and the regular need for rests took their toll on his patience, not helped by the fact that he needed to keep himself disguised at any time, for nobody knew when they might meet other travellers on the road.

There was one thing in his new companions’ favour though. They refused to leave him outside when they rested for the night at an inn. Instead, they were content with sleeping at the stables, which the innkeepers gladly allowed so long as their big scary dog didn’t frighten the horses.

After a week of travelling like this, Hiccup became more restful. His brothers and sisters had spent many years in that man’s captivity. What difference would another couple of weeks make? This rescue mission was important, too important to risk it for unnecessary hast. And once he had accepted this truth, his mood lightened considerably. In some fashion, he even learned to enjoy the journey.

For as long as he remembered, humans had always made him curious. They had no fire inside them to keep them warm and no fur on the outside either. They had no claws or fangs to hunt or to defend themselves. And yet, they were not only able to survive but their population was growing constantly. Travelling with the Sorcerer and his daughter brought enlightenment to some of his questions. For the first time ever, the dragon noticed all the tools the humans made, not only swords or bows and arrows which they use for hunting but also pots and scissors and tongs and gears. It was fascinating and intriguing. He regularly asked his companions about the things they saw, making for great conversations on their long journey.

“That’s called a scythe,” Elkhart explained as they wandered past a field where several people were hard at work. “We use it to harvest some sorts of crops. These people were scything hay for the winter.”

[But you don’t eat hey,] Hiccup commented, bemused. [Why would you do something like this if it doesn’t give you anything? It looked to be exhausting.]

That seemed to amuse Elkhart. “You’re right there, on both point,” he said, chuckling. “It is quite exhausting work for something we can’t even digest. But it is not for us anyway. It is for our livestock. Cattle, sheep, horses; they all need this hay as food for the winter.”

[So you gather food for your animals so they can live through the winter and you can slaughter and eat them later?]

This time, both Elkhart and Astrid laughed, and after a moment, Hiccup joined in, barking out sounds of amusement. Oh, he had understood what Elkhart had explained, and he had to admit that it was a smart move. The humans were taking care of the other creatures around them, even if they ended up eating them. It wasn’t unlike what he did to the animals of the forest, taking care of them and keeping them safe from outer threats, but feeding on them when he needed.

Over time, Hiccup began to understand the humans better, both in general and his two companions specifically. Elkhart was happy to explain every device and practice they encountered, like the big smithy in one village and what it got used for. More often than not though, Astrid had to interrupt him when he got caught in too many details or had to get him back on topic as he was easily sidetracked.

Astrid, on the other hand, was the better option when he had a question about human behaviour. From her, he learned for example that a handful of fresh flowers given as a gift usually were meant as a sign of affection while a bunch of dried herbs hanging over the entrance to a house were supposed to ward off evil spirits.

He learned that the easy way in which the Sorcerer handled making a campfire or drying their clothes by magic was something Astrid enjoyed teasing him with. According to her, he wouldn’t even be capable of getting dressed without using his magic.

And he learned that Elkhart the Sorcerer really was the last of his kind beside their enemy, for he had no other offsprings besides his daughter, and she hadn’t inherited his talent for magic. Oh, she had her own gift in being immune to most magic and also being able to sense certain spells, but she couldn’t wield it herself.

. o O o .

One night, when they all once more slept in the fairly empty stables of an inn, Hiccup suddenly woke up. There were noises, hushed voices and careful steps, giggling. His eyes, that could see in the dark of night just as well as in broad daylight, spotted two figures sneaking inside. At first, he felt alarmed. Did they want to attack them? Had the dark magician learned about them and had sent assassins? But he quickly discovered that his worries had been for nothing. The two humans, a female and a male of young age, climbed up the ladder to the hayloft, and soon other noises beside giggling were audible, noises that confused the dragon.

Puzzled, he moved closer to where Astrid lay and nudged her arm with his nose.

“Hm, what?” came her sleepy response, and she turned to see who had woken her.

[Listen,] Hiccup told her. [There are other humans here. But I can’t tell what they are doing.]

Astrid listened into the darkness, then pressed her hand to her mouth to smother her laughter.

[What are they doing? It sounds weird.]

Astrid gave him an amused look, then pursed her lips, thinking. “They are… mating,” she eventually whispered, so low that no human would be able to hear her but loud enough for his sensitive ears to understand her perfectly well.

Hiccup nodded, understanding but still wondering about this odd human behaviour. [I see. But why were they sneaking around then? And why did they need to go up there to mate? Is it another human custom with dead plants?]

He could feel Astrid’s body vibrate with laughter, even as she managed to stay silent.

“No, nothing like that,” she whispered back, her words ringing with amusement. “It’s just… humans are weird when it comes to mating. Complicated. There are rules to it that even I don’t always understand. First, humans don’t mate in public. Mating it something private, intimate, only to be shared between the participants and for nobody else to see. And it’s not something done with just anyone either. You’re supposed to be certain that the person you’re mating with is the one you want to raise possible offspring with, too. Because human children stay for a long time with, usually, both their parents.”

Hiccup cocked his head. He had understood her words, but they still didn’t make much sense to him. [But why would they be mating if not to produce offspring?] he asked, puzzled. Humans never ceased to baffle him.

To him, his question had been perfectly sensible, but Astrid quietly laughed again nonetheless.

[Did I do something wrong?]

“No, no,” she assured him. “It’s just, well, the same as before. Humans are weird when it comes to this. In most cases, mating isn’t meant to produce offspring, but instead, they do it because… well, because it’s fun.”

She shrugged, and Hiccup decided to leave it at that. He still didn’t feel as if any of this made sense, but that was true for many things regarding humans, and he’d already accepted that there were things he would never understand. Like the odd jumble of people in the middle of the village the other day which Astrid had called dancing, or how the people they met on the road could miss that Astrid’s hand occasionally resting on his back was much too high to be patting a dog.

Spring turned into summer as they wandered on until they reached the land where Grimmel ruled. Hiccup felt a shudder running down his spine as they climbed a hill and then, all of a sudden, a city was visible in the distance. It was a vast city, bigger than any other human settlement he’d seen so far, hundreds of houses built side by side with a big castle looming over it.

“Here we are,” the Sorcerer said, sounding tense, angry even. “The city of Aerilon, where my order was destroyed and where the dark magician still keeps hundreds of innocent creatures captive. But we will put an end to all this!”

Hiccup growled in agreement, but when he was about to go ahead, to start the last part of their journey, Astrid stopped him.

“Wait!” she exclaimed. Her eyes were darting around, squinting. “There’s something wrong here…”

Both Hiccup and Elkhart watched her in puzzlement as she walked back and forth, right and left, looking highly concentrated. Eventually, she nodded to herself and turned to address her father.

“Is it possible that Grimmel is somehow observing the border? Something feels different over here.”

The Sorcerer’s brows furrowed. He made a step backwards, closed his eyes, and raised his hands as if feeling for something invisible. Then he nodded. “Yes… It seems like he is tracking who enters his land. I wonder…” He threw Hiccup a quick glance, then he sighed. “This might actually be a problem.”

[Why?] Hiccup inquired, impatiently. They were so close. It would be so easy to jump into the air, fly over toward the castle in less than a minute, and attack the dark magician. Grimmel wouldn’t even know what was coming.

“I can imagine what you are thinking, my friend,” Elkhart said in an oddly soothing tone. “But we mustn’t barge in on him without a plan. We don’t know where he is right now, don’t know where exactly the dragons are kept. Before we can attack, we need information.”

The dragon growled. [So what now? Am I supposed to wait here at his front door until you found those pieces of information? How long will that take? The journey there and back again alone will take you two days. I can’t wait here that long!]

“He’s right, Father,” Astrid threw in, glancing around in discomfort. Her hand around her bow over her shoulder tightened. “He can’t stay here. Even if I stay with him, it would be too dangerous. Suspicious.” She pondered a moment, then asked, “Can you even enter? Wouldn’t he detect your magic, too?”

The Sorcerer shook his head. “No. I should be able to mask it well enough. It means that I won’t be able to use my magic at all while we’re in Aerilon, but that shouldn’t be a problem.” Both Astrid and Hiccup gave him flat stares. “Okay, okay, it will be difficult. But I can manage if the alternative is being captured and killed,” he grumbled.

[Can you do that for me too? Mask me from his view?] Hiccup asked impatiently. He didn’t like just standing around here.

But, again, the Sorcerer shook his head. “That won’t be enough. I can’t hide what I am, only cover my magic, as if I was locking it away somewhere deep inside me. It’s a bit like your natural disguise. It wouldn’t change what you are, just how you appear, and that wouldn’t be enough to trick this spell.”

Hiccup nodded, understanding.

“And… if you do change what he is?” Astrid suddenly asked. She looked hesitant, reluctant even, her hands shaking.

Hiccup cocked his head, intrigued by her strange reaction. He also noticed that the Sorcerer did barely better, blanching at her words. His mouth opened and closed a few times without him ever uttering a word.

[What does that mean?] he asked after a while, tired of waiting for the humans to come to a decision. For a race that lived for only such a short time, they certainly were prone to wasting incredible amounts of it.

“Using magic is a complicated matter,” Elkhart eventually replied, sounding tired. “It’s not easy to… to command it. I can only – how can I phrase it – I can only express a wish, an intent, and then I have to lend my body to the magic for it to flow through me and let it find its own way to fulfil what I asked for. I can specify my intent, channel the magic and thereby make it easier. But that only works with simple things or when I really know what to do. But actually, physically transforming you into something else, something the border magic won’t register as something unusual… Well, that’s will take a lot of magic, and there’s no way of channelling it. I…” he paused, and licked his lips, thinking, then nodded. “I think I can do it. But I won’t be able to guide the magic in any way. You might end up becoming a mouse, or… or a sparrow. Something the border magic won’t detect as unusual, something that’ll be inconspicuous when we’re in the city looking for information.”

Hiccup cringed at the idea of turning into a mouse. Mice were food. No, not even that! They were the food of what his food hunted as food. Shuddering, he turned away from his friends, angrily pacing in front of the invisible border. There had to be a better way, something less degrading and humiliating.

“Maybe it won’t be something like that though,” Astrid gently interrupted his pondering. “Maybe you will become an eagle, flying high above through the sky. Or you’ll become this big black dog you always pretend to be for real. Whatever the magic thinks works best. And you can end the spell whenever you need to. Right?” She turned to throw her father a questioning look.

“Right,” the Sorcerer confirmed. “It would be similar to what I’d do with my magic. Your real self would still be there, locked inside you, and you can call it back whenever you need it. But keep in mind that that will immediately alert our enemy, so you better keep that for when it’s absolutely necessary.”

Grumbling, Hiccup looked at them both, then kept on pacing. He didn’t like this plan; something about it felt… off. But no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t come up with a better one. They had to free the dragons, and they had to get in there first without getting noticed.

[All right,] he eventually gave in. [Do what needs to be done.]

They didn’t waste any more time. Both Astrid and Elkhart took a handful of steps away from him, then the Sorcerer raised his hands, eyes closed, and began to mumble incoherently. At some point, Hiccup thought he detected the words “Magic, do as you will, do as you will,” and he honestly couldn't say that they filled him with any form of confidence.

But before he could think about it or even stop the Sorcerer, a cloud of light was forming around him. It became brighter and brighter, blinding even. Then it turned hot. As a dragon, Hiccup was immune to fire and burns, but this heat was different. It seeped into his body, burning, melting him from the inside. It hurt! He wanted to scream, to tell them to stop. But he wasn’t able to reach them. Nothing existed anymore besides the heat and the light.

He couldn’t even say how long it took. It could have been seconds or years, he wouldn’t know. But when it ended, he felt weaker than he’d ever felt before in his life. All strength had left him and his limp body slumped to the ground as if it was dead. From somewhere came hands, turning and lifting him, and a voice, familiar yet different, not as vibrant as he remembered it yet somehow sharper and more focused.

“Hiccup? Hiccup, can you hear me? Are you all right?”

I’m okay, he thought, grimacing at how everything felt so weird, so different. But he was okay. The pain was ebbing away and his limbs felt more capable with every second. Slowly, he was able to open his eyes and look up into Astrid’s comforting face.

“Hiccup! Oh, you’re awake, that’s good. Can you hear me?”

Yes, loud and clearly, he threw back, irked by her repeated inquiry. Whatever they had done to him, it had worked. He just needed a few minutes to get used to it.

“Please, answer me, Hiccup. Are you okay?”

Hiccup paused. Hadn’t she heard him? Was something off with his thoughts? Groaning, he remembered what they had explained to him, that other living beings weren’t able to project their thoughts as dragons did. He moved his lower jaw, testingly opening and closing his mouth. He tried to get out any form of noise, but all it did was making him cough.

“Slowly,” Astrid advised him gently. She reached to her hip, to her waterskin, and a moment later held it out for him. “Here, try to drink something. But carefully.”

Hiccup followed her advice and took a few sips of water. It felt wonderful on his parched throat. “Thanks,” he croaked.

Astrid relaxed noticeably. “Are you all right?” she asked again, more gently now than before. There was an odd concern in her eyes, one he didn’t really understand.

“Yes?” He was all right… wasn’t he? Everything felt dull and muzzled, different, his mind feeling as if enclosed in mist. But at least he didn’t feel pain anymore. He looked around, trying to clear his head, when his eyes fell on Astrid’s waterskin… and on his hands around it!

“W-what am I?” he gasped, disbelievingly. He obviously was no mouse, that much was clear, but…

Carefully, as if to show rather then tell him, Astrid laid her hand over his, and when he looked up at her again, he saw weird things there. Fear. Pain. Sorrow.

“You are human.”

. o O o .

Duh duh duuh...

[mypokepal]

Hey, OP!! If pokepal reqs are still open, could you perhaps do one for me? Currently a freshman in highschool, nb and lesbian! I'm an INFJ and more of an artsy person who likes to draw, write, and sing, but I've never been too confident with my abilities. I'm also an absolute sucker for anything cute or pink whether it's figurines, anything produced by Sanrio or pastries! Overall, I'm just a socially awkward person and kind of dumb when it comes to academics I guess(??). - Elliot

(2) I always try my best to be a nice and enthusiastic person, but sometimes I slip and suddenly I'm pessimistic towards life, but that's highschool for ya. I'm really hoping I could get into teaching choir or just becoming a part-time artist and something else. While I have a slightly bright outlook, I'm also the person/friend who'll listen to anyone and not know the consequences of not standing up for yourself. - Elliot (3) Sometimes I feel like I'm never taken seriously with my feelings around my friends because it's just hard to find people who will give a response that's more than 'oof' or something that won't make you feel like they don't care. Sorry about the rant there, but on a positive note, I adore and love Christmas with all my heart! - Elliot (3/3) [I apologize about the clutter-]

Elliot? Do you mean...

It’s a lot easier said than done but remembering to take care of yourself and being good to yourself is so very important. It’s an easy way to end the day off on somewhat of a good note-and this doesn’t mean falling in love with yourself or indulging in things you shouldn’t. But, like giving yourself a chance and just allowing yourself to be free with whatever you want to create whether its art, music, writing, etc. Practice makes perfect and it’s okay to be a little tough on yourself in order to do better but completely shutting yourself out will never allow you to grow and learn. Art is fluid and limitless! 

I hope you find someone that will listen to you and hear you and be there for you the way that you need and I hope that you in turn will reciprocate this support as well. If it helps, my inbox is always open. 

And I have the perfect partner for you! Let me introduce you to...

Shinx! I think Shinx would be perfect for you because...

(1) Shinx loves anything that is shiny and extravagant! This means you can dress your little pal up and Shinx would not mind at all. Two little ribbons for each ear, a little costume for its body and a bowtie on its tail to finish off the look. I guarantee you that you’ll have everyone on the streets stopping to awe at your adorable little blue pal who walks proudly with a huge smile on its face as it shows off its outfit. Sometimes it will be hard to tell which one is your living, breathing, Shinx when it’s sitting in a pile of your Pokemon plushies! Shinx is loyal to the bone, which means that, there’s nothing that Shinx won’t do with and for you. 

(2) As little as it is, Shinx is always honing its skills and constantly pushing itself past its limit. You’ll feel your heart grow three times in size when you see just how hard Shinx tries for you. The quote “fall down 6, stand up 7″ was written about Shinx because this Pokemon does not know when to give up. Shinx will keep practicing a certain move until its whole body is sore just so it can be perfect. Shinx will also apply this persistence when it comes to indulging in your hobbies with you. For example, it will keep working on one painting over and over again until it believes that it is good for you to look at it. No one is harder on itself than your little blue pal and you’ll find yourself in shock sometimes over how much you two mirror each other. Seeing how hard Shinx works will inspire you to do the same and in no time, you’ll find yourself improving drastically with your art and self confidence. You will also teach Shinx that it is okay to fail from time to time as that is part of the learning process. I think you guys would do great combining your creativeness and determination competing in Pokemon Contests! 

(3) Though still in its baby form, Shinx’s emotional intelligence is quite developed compared to other Pokemon. It is able to read you with just one glance and knows immediately when something is off. Do not be afraid to confide in this little one as Shinx is always ready to lend an ear and a shoulder to cry on. Shinx will stay by your side and listen to you patiently and attentively while you vent and rant. It will be by your side consoling you until you fall asleep and sneak off to do something in hopes of cheering you up the next day. When you wake up, expect to find a cute drawing of you and Shinx by your pillow, wild flowers and berries on the dining room table, a burnt pancake siting on your favourite plate and an exhausted but eager Shinx waiting to see a smile appear on your face. 

Other Pokemon Considered: Formantis, Goomy, Aipom

[samueldays]

Cultist Simulator is bad

Small annoyed disagreeable rant/review after seeing a tweetseries from people I like:

> Some of the most beautiful games involve the incremental accumulation of power and potential which is nevertheless extremely fragile to disruption and must be protected. The victory condition is often a dangerous and glorious consummation of force and willpower.

> What games do this well

>  The thought was stimulated by Cultist Simulator, which distills the concept to its refined essence.

No. I’m really not seeing it. I played through the three original victory conditions to get my money’s worth, I was unimpressed with the game, and I definitely didn’t see a “dangerous and glorious consummation”. I saw grind and busywork.

The main danger of Cultist Simulator is recurring resource sinks. Money is constantly consumed, and you will need to earn more of it. Health may be intermittently consumed, and you will have to recover it, such as by resting or buying medicine. Sanity is intermittently consumed -- the game mechanically tracks it as Dread/Fascination counting up rather than sanity counting down - but the principle is the same, recover the resource or you’ll be in deep trouble.

But there’s no threat large and powerful enough to make any of these accumulated resources fragile. All the resource sinks always move one point at a time on a long track: 3-ish points for the intermittently consumed, and you can accumulate as much Money as you like (I’ve had 30+) against the constant upkeep cost. You can pretty much only lose by long-term neglect and letting these resources run out.* technically you can accumulate as much health as you like too

Nothing will come along and threaten to smash your shit. Bank robbers won’t take ten money and reduce you to penury, forcing you to scramble for money before the rent on your cultist HQ comes due. Sanity-rending monsters won’t rend more than one point of sanity each, nor will they appear in packs. You will never lose your strange tomes, nor will you forget the languages you’ve learned, nor will you become unable to perform a Rite once you have discovered it.

You might lack the ingredients for a Rite, but the Rite itself, as a game object you own, is indestructible and unlosable. And you can choose to destroy a unique artifact by ritual sacrifice or sale, but no game entity will ever come by to steal or break it.

The final threat that comes to mind is the Investigators seeking to have you thrown in jail, which is the only element I can envision as being anywhere near “fragile to disruption and must be protected”.

You can lose the game to an Investigator. If you are neglectful or don’t know the tricks yet. Because Investigators also move on a predictable track: you start with a spotless record and the investigator can look at your cult activities (Notoriety) to create weak evidence against you, and then can follow up on weak evidence to create strong evidence against you, and then can use strong evidence to make you lose if you haven’t erased evidence or otherwise stopped them.

The game’s design, at least when I played it, makes it bizarrely straightforward to ensure this doesn’t happen. There’s the "sensible" means like sending assassins to kill investigators, or speaking forbidden words to drive them insane, but even if you don’t have access to assassins or forbidden words, you don’t need any resources but player attention to ensure perfect protection against investigators in two silly ways.

1) Evidence times out after a while if an investigator doesn’t follow up on it. Investigators cannot follow up on evidence that you are holding in your “hand” (dragging with cursor). So when an investigator approaches, you can pause game, give orders, pick up evidence, unpause game with keyboard, let investigator wander around doing nothing for a minute until they give up and go elsewhere. Drop evidence once investigator is gone.

2) Investigators cannot follow up on evidence if they’re busy. You can talk to an investigator to keep them busy. You can talk to them repeatedly, back to back. You can even talk about your cult activities to them and they’ll be so busy listening to you monopolize their schedule that they’ll let the statute of limitations expire.

That mostly concludes my disagreements, some other general criticism below the cut.

The grind. Oh god, the fucking manual grind. Drag your Job Card onto your Work Verb. Wait 60 seconds. Receive money. Work Verb spits out your Job Card. Drag your Job Card onto your Work Verb. Wait 60 seconds. Receive money. Work Verb spits out your Job Card. Drag your Job Card onto your Work Verb. Wait 60 seconds. Receive money. Work Verb spits out your Job Card. Repeat many times. Repeat many times in a row, even, stop to use your Work Verb for something else, drag your Job Card onto your Work Verb another ten times. Can has automation of “keep working” plzkthx.

(no we can’t because the game is probably making an artistic statement about the drudgery of work by annoying the player with drudgery in play too, I suppose)

Replay value is low. There’s the same books, the same summons, the same cultists, the same rites the same commissioners. And since the occult books you get are drawn randomly from a pool, you can’t even do much strategizing of “I’ll go for this book today” - you just have to keep pulling from the pool until you’ve got most of the same ones all over again.

You can theoretically win with only one rite -- you can win straightforwardly with two of the ten or so rites in the game (Intercalate and either Sunset or Map’s Edge) -- or you can get five other rites and have no end of hassle because they’re five rites that all require permanent sacrifices of things which are bothersome to get or limited in supply or both. More draws from the rite pool!

When you first found your cult, you get a “Temporary Headquarters” card. It is actually your permanent headquarters, there is no change or upgrade or replacement to be done with it. This is an example of a wider problem of the game pretending to encourage discovery and exploration, but then deceiving you on several points about what is discoverable, so you can easily fuck around trying to get better headquarters to no avail for half an hour, during which you will Drag your Job Card onto your Work Verb another ten or twenty times.

The game also pretends to encourage risk-taking. Yeeeah no not with the amount of brainless grind required to get back to where I was if I lose a game and have to start over, Drag your Job Card onto your Work Verb again.

Some cards of the same type can stack, like Health and Passion. Painting a very artistic painting takes four Passion cards for highest effect. When you’re done painting, your Passion cards will be temporary exhausted and de-stack because they’re not of the same type any more. When they recover, they will not re-stack. Flarging barging card shuffle management for things that really should have been automated. Like Drag your Job Card onto your Work Verb.

Speaking of things that should have been automated, drag four Glimmering cards into your passion upgrader, now drag six, now drag eight, now drag eight Glimmering cards into your passion upgrader because you lost a passion to a rite by accident and misleading interface. Drag all these cards one by one because there’s no way we could just autofill with the only possible, necessary card to put in the upgrader, right? Do similar things for Vitality and for Erudition.

Speaking of misleading interface, a lot of the game has you inserting cards into a set of slots to produce an effect. Until you memorize what each of the slots want, there will be a lot of trial and error. To help a little in this, clicking on a slot will highlight which cards on the table fit in that slot.

It will also highlight some cards on the table which would fit in that slot under other circumstances but don’t fit right now due to what you have in the other slots, which is less useful than it could be because it doesn’t explain the circumstances.

It will also highlight some cards on the table that don’t fit in that slot at all, making it really unhelpful and you should probably just memorize what all the slots want already.

In closing, it feels like half the game only works when you are ignorant (discover! explore! oh no, a strange and unknown threat! spooky!) but the other half only works well with a manual at your side (to extract value from book A, you need to learn dead language B which can be gotten from summonable character C whose undocumented summoning requires quantity D of resource E, quantity F of resource G, and quantity H of resource I, and depending on whether you use Rite J or Rite K you will permanently lose either the resource E or the resource G)

[the-kittens-of-vol-tron]

YOU SHOULD TOTALLY WRITE THE BRAINWASHED!LANCE AU OKAY THANKS I LOVE YOU

AHHHHHH OKAY!!!!! You can ship Lance with the person you want too in this! 

Prompt! 

Prompt Created by @holy-smokes-witha-side-of-coke

—

Lance wasn’t entirely sure what happened, one moment he was flying the red lion and the next moment he was being tackled by a girl. Her hair was pink and she appeared out of nowhere, like a chameleon. “I got you Blue Paladin!” Her voice was upbeat and Lance attempted to throw her off him. “How did you get in my lion?!”

 She laughed in his ear, ignoring his question and Lance felt something take over him, control his movements and bringing him to the ground. He felt himself slipping into consciousness when he heard the pink hair girl start to speak to someone else. 

“Oh poo Narti you always take all of the fun!” 

“Shush it Ezor, now grab the paladin we mu-” Lance never heard the end to their sentence. 

-

Lance woke with his arms tied above his head, a small ache in his shoulder. His head throbbed and his vision was blurry. Every fiber in his body throbbed in pain and Lance fought back whimpers as he raised his head slightly. He frantically scanned the room he was in, his eyes slowly adjusting to everything. 

The room was small, almost the size of his room in the castle, it had silver walls and a metal bed in the center of it. Off to the side was a desk with supplies that Lance would only see in hospitals on T.V shows. The air was dry and had a off smell to it, sorta chemical smell to it that made Lance’s stomach turn. 

Where am I? He pulled against the restraints that held him up by his wrist. I’m not on the castle, suddenly everything that had happened to Lance came rushing back to him. The Galran girls, the battle, being tackled from inside his lion. Shit. 

“Ah Blue Paladin, you’re finally awake.” A blue haired and blue skinned female entered the room, her blue and yellow eyes digging into the boy. Another female entered the room, she was taller than the other girl with purple and pink hair. She looked like she could throw a schoolbus across a football field without breaking a sweat. 

“Who are you?” Lance silently cursed at himself when his voice cracked slightly from the rush of fear that consumed him. 

The shorter girl stepped towards Lance, cupping Lance’s cheek in her right hand. “You will learn that information at a later time. Now I hope you’re ready to meet Prince Lotor.” A blindfold was placed on Lance’s face and strong arms picked him up, unhooking his wrist and started to carry out of the room. 

Lance fought against the person carrying him, knowing his efforts had no effect on them. “Let me go!!” He gritted through his teeth as he attempted to kicked the person carrying him. 

“Stop fighting paladin or you will regret it.” The person’s voice was a bit rougher than the other girl and Lance stopped fighting, feeling fear consume his body yet again. 

After being carried for a few minutes Lance hear a door opening and he was being placed in a chair, the talking in the room stopping as soon as he was placed down. More restraints coming around his wrists and ankles. Lance attempted to push against, gaining no space and the blindfold was quickly removed from his eyes, making him squint at the brightly lit room. 

A tall figure started to approach Lance, they had long white hair that reminded Lance of snow. He had a slightly wide shoulder frame, indicating that he wasn’t weak. He kneeled down infront of Lance, his blue and yellow eyes staring at Lance with intensity. “Dear me, I ordered my subordinates to be more gentle to you,” Lotor reached up and wiped some dried blood from Lance’s forehead. “However you’re torture is over as long as you compile and do what I say. I am Prince Lotor and you, Blue Paladin, are going to be offered the deal of a lifetime.” 

Lance would have spit in Lotor’s face if his mouth would have produced the saliva he required, “why would I agree to anything that you have to offer me?” His voice held only irritation as Lotor laughed in his face. 

“Who said you would have a choice?” Lotor stood from where he was kneeling and another person with no eyes and a cat stepped forward, their hand reaching for Lance’s head. “Now Narti, try to be a little gentle, we don’t want to break him too much.” Lotor made his way over to a chair, smiling at Lance as pain started to consume his head. 

-

After about three quintants Lance was allowed to move freely, of course he was required to follow the girls he now knew as Acxa and Zethrid, never leaving their sides. Lance felt different, he couldn’t figure out why, he just didn’t feel like himself. Maybe it was the fact that he really didn’t remember much from before he was placed on the ship. He remembered his team, wait they were his team right? Lance wasn’t sure all of his facts felt off. Maybe it was the fact that Lance was constantly surrounded by negativity. 

Before he was on the ship he would get rid of any negativity he felt about himself but Lotor told him to hold on to those feelings. He told Lance that those feelings would teach him new things and make him stronger but the more Lance held onto these feelings the more he lost himself. 

-

“Again, this time focus more feelings into it.” Lotor watched Lance from across the room, his head leaning against his arm in complete boredom. 

Lance was exhausted, his arms felt heavy as he will more emotions to the surface. He wanted to sleep, he would give anything to stop this impossible task. Yet every time Lance felt like quieting Lotor would motion towards Narti and she would feed him more negativity. 

Lance released a pained screamed, ignoring the impressed gasp that filled the room when the sword he had been staring at for the past four vargas moved away from him. 

He slumped on the floor, his head throbbing with pain as Lotor started to clap his hands. “That was better than expected Lance.” Lance’s eyes widened at what Lotor said, he had never called Lance by his first name before, he must of done something right. 

Lotor stood from his chair, walking over to Lance and pulling him up. He brushed off his shoulders and gave him a toothy smile. “Since we know you can do this, we have a lot more to do.” Lance closed his eyes, nodding his head as he slumped against the prince. 

-

It took a few weeks for Lance to master his newly discovered ability to move anything he wanted with his mind. He simply needed negative feelings and Lotor and his generals made sure he had constant negativity surrounding him. 

Yet none of them knew the actual damage that this ability had of Lance. The constant negativity and stress that Lance faced everyday had made his brain snap. Lance couldn’t do anything to avoid the feelings every day so his brain did something that Lance it didn’t know was possible. He started to see his old team, he started to see the people he loved most and they were always with him. He was hallucinating. 

They would look transparent, he was always able to see through them but that didn’t change the fact that Lance truly believed that they were there with him. These people were always with him, surrounding him, making him less lonely. No matter what Lance would be doing, who he was around these people would talk to him. 

After a week of two or Lance seeing these people who he either used to love or still did he stopped hearing what Lotor or his generals were saying. He knew that they were talking to him, he could see their mouths moving as they tried to get his attention but Lance couldn’t hear them. He could only hear the other people, usually it was the person he loved most. He was content with that and Lotor stopped being mad after a few vargas. 

“We don’t understand humans that much, maybe this is his mind way of keeping him alive.” Lotor pondered as he listened Lance have a full on conversation with what appeared to be himself. 

-

They willed their legs forwards, ignoring the pain that coursed through their muscles or the bile that threaten to release itself. I need to get to Lance! They turned down another corner running into a room that resembled the training deck at the castle. They he was, just sitting there smiling to himself. “LANCE! I found you!”  

Lance didn’t budge from where he was sitting on the floor, but he was talking to himself. 

“Lance? Are you okay?” They took a few steps forward but froze when daggers started to raise from the flood, aimed at them. 

“You know, I do enjoy talking to you! It’s really nice to not be alone anymore.” Lance smiled at thin air and the daggers started to fly at his guest. 

“Lance!” They dodged the first few daggers, keeping their eyes trained of the boy who was laughing to himself. “Stop this! I’m not here to hurt you! Please stop!” A dagger grazed their cheek as they dodged another set. 

Lance ignored them, it was like he didn’t even see him. “You know, I was nervous to say this but I finally worked up the courage. I really like you, hell I love you.” Lance nodded at whatever was being said to him, “that’s a relief.” 

Who is Lance talking to? The dodged a few more daggers, unable to get close enough to the boy to snap him out of his trance. I need backup. The activated their coms, keeping an eye on the boy they loved and the daggers that surrounded him. 

“Did you find Lance?” 

“Yeah, but I need some help. He’s…different.” They fought back tears, how can I save you when you don’t even acknowledge me?

—

How did I do? 

This was really fun to write! 

I hope you like it!

Thank you! I love you too

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent - “Service” (Rated NC17)

When Kurt's anxiety flares up, Blaine proves that the service a submissive provides can be more than just what he can offer with his body, and that care is a two-way street. (1757 words)

For @itallstartedwithharry.

Written for the Klaine Advent 2017 prompt "judgement". Dom Kurt, sub Blaine. Warning for anxiety.

Part 59 of Taking a Journey Together

Read on AO3.

“I appreciate you coming with me today, pet. I really do.”

And though Kurt says it while in the middle of juggling a dozen other things, a bashful smile crosses Blaine’s lips, accompanied by a flush of pink rushing to color his cheeks. His head, which had been bowed in deference (easily passed off as a consequence of the cold wind blowing hard that afternoon), lowers to hide his pride. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, you’re positive that this isn’t going to make you late for an appointment with your vocal coach or … or a rehearsal or … or something?”

“Not at all. Today’s my afternoon off, Sir. But even if it weren’t … uh … you and I would be going to the same place.”

Kurt, who has been busy rummaging through his bag for the past twenty minutes, searching frantically for something, looks up and around, as if suddenly remembering where they’re both headed. “Oh.” He chuckles, followed by an anxious hiccup. “Oh, right. I forgot. And speaking of …” He stops walking to focus on the contents of his bag, which, from the scowl on his face, are unsatisfactory. His scowl flips to a grimace of mild panic. “Oh … oh no! Don’t do this to me! Please, don’t do this to me!”

“What’s wrong, Sir?”

“My folder! My leather folder! It isn’t in my bag!”

“Which folder, Sir?”

“That brown one …” Kurt snaps the fingers of his right hand to jar his memory, come up with a better, more accurate description “… with my name embossed along the bottom in gold. It was a present from Isabelle when I started lining up auditions again. It has my …”

“… your sheet music in it, Sir?” Blaine quickly pulls a leather folder from his own messenger bag. He’d noticed it lying on the kitchen table as they raced out the door. He was sure his Master meant to take it, but Kurt was not in the mind space for him to ask at the time. So Blaine slipped it into his bag, just in case.

Kurt looks at it, held out to him by his loyal sub, and his tense body relaxes.

“Yes.” He sighs. “That’s the one. Thank you, pet.”

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

Blaine watches Kurt slide the folder into his bag, then re-arrange his things, needing every item in precisely the right order. Blaine doesn’t stare, but instead looks around to make certain no one else is taking any notice, prepared to decline any offer of assistance should one come their way. Blaine rarely ever sees his Master behave like this. Normally, Kurt is the picture of cool and collected. He’s known throughout the fashion world for his icy demeanor, his talent for shutting down an argument with a single steely glare. Calm under pressure behind the scenes at fashion shows or handling last minute snafus with efficiency and grace is one of the foundations his reputation is built on.

The unflappable Kurt Hummel.

But on days like today, Kurt’s signature calm is a façade covering a tightly wound spool of anxiety.

Kurt hides his episodes, constantly afraid of someone finding out, afraid of seeing him as lesser, or worse – damaged. The amazing actor that Kurt is, it’s not a difficult sell for him to act “normal”, even on those days when he’s on the verge of pulling his hair out by the roots. But he doesn’t hide this side of himself from Blaine. Blaine gets to see his Master during these moments of vulnerability.

And he considers it an honor.

It has also been a valuable learning experience. Blaine has started to let go of caring about how other people see him, to ignore their petty judgments, and to even outright tell people where to go if they can’t mind their own business.

The only person he cares about impressing is his Master. Everyone else’s opinion is inconsequential.

Today is an important day for Kurt, one that could change the path of his career. Kurt is going to the first audition he’s been to since he met Blaine. It was tricky negotiating the finer details, not only because of who Kurt is, but because of who Blaine is becoming, and their connection to one another. With Blaine making more and more of a name for himself in the theater community, Kurt did his hardest to hide any connection he had to him while setting up this meeting.

But he failed.

Actually, Blaine’s agent failed, purposefully letting the information slip under the guise of putting a good word in for Kurt, after Blaine specifically asked him not to.

Which is why the man is no longer Blaine’s agent.

But the cat’s out of the bag, and there’s no way to wrestle its furry ass back in. It’s not like the directors and producers wouldn’t have found out eventually that Kurt and Blaine are dating (even if Kurt submitted his resume under the pseudonym Sam Evans). Kurt happens to be auditioning for a role in Blaine’s own show – Kinky Boots. But now, if Kurt gets the part or he doesn’t get the part, he won’t know if it’s because of his talent (or lack thereof), or because of his association with Blaine.

There are no clear-cut predictions for this scenario, and because Kurt can’t formulate a possible viable outcome … he’s freaking out.

He’d nearly decided not to go at all, but a timely comment by Blaine about how fun it would be to perform opposite one another changed Kurt’s mind. (Blaine couldn’t let Kurt back out. He knew how much his Master would regret it if he did.)

They start walking again, heading towards the subway, and Blaine falls in step with Kurt. Kurt had told Blaine once that he finds that soothing - the rhythm of them walking side by side, the cadence of their matched steps. That’s what Blaine wants Kurt to feel.

Soothed.

But a few feet from the terminal entrance, Blaine sees Kurt put a hand to his forehead, his cheeks draining of all their color.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

“No, I’m not,” Kurt says in a hushed voice, trying not to draw anyone’s attention. “I’m so frickin’ nervous, I barely ate breakfast. I didn’t bring a water bottle with me, so now I have a headache. With my luck, my blood sugar’s going to drop into my feet, and I’m going to pass out on stage.”

“Which is why I brought a juice box, a granola bar, and a PB&J,” Blaine says, patting his bag. “Just in case.”

Kurt looks at Blaine, his own not-oft seen version of a shy smile making an appearance. “That’s very thoughtful of you, pet.” Blaine starts down the stairs, but Kurt doesn’t join him. He looks over his shoulder, his feet stuttering between going forward and turning back.

Turning back, surprisingly, wins.

“Oh my God …”

“Master?”

“I … I have to go back to the loft.”

“What? Why?”

“I didn’t … I didn’t turn off the stove! Every burner has a pan on it! What if …?”

Blaine puts a gentle arm on the crook of Kurt’s elbow. Kurt turns on him, ready to reprimand him right there in public for interrupting him, when Blaine shows his Master a photo on his phone.

“What? What is this?” Kurt snaps, taking Blaine’s phone and maneuvering it into better light.

“It’s a picture of the stove before we left,” Blaine explains. “If you swipe through them, you’ll see that the stove is turned off, as well as the oven.”

“You took a photo of every burner knob?”

“A-ha. Plus the front door, so you can see it’s locked, and all the windows so you know they’re closed.”

Kurt looks through the photos on Blaine’s phone – pictures from this morning of various areas in their loft bleeding into pictures of the two of them together smiling on the subway, cooking in the kitchen, lying in bed with the comforter pulled up to their chests, sweaty and laughing, exhausted from a marathon night of making love to one another, which they were nowhere near done with when that photo was taken. There are no chains or whips or handcuffs in these pictures. As a general rule, Blaine isn’t allowed to keep those pictures on his cell phone, no evidence of their “alternative lifestyle”. So, these pictures are just examples of two men in love, who appreciate one another.

Who support one another.

Who take care of one another.

It’s a concept that Kurt is not used to being on the receiving end of. Too few Dominants and submissives alike remember that service means more than what a pet can offer with their bodies.

And that care is a two-way street.

Of course, service comes so naturally to Blaine.

As does love.

Kurt grins. He hands Blaine back his phone.

“I thought it was my job to take care of you, pet,” Kurt says, popping Blaine’s collar against the wind when it begins to blow, and sounding so much more like the put-together executive that the fashion world knows and loves.

“And you do, Sir. But, I’m here to take care of you, too. Make sure you stay healthy and sane. It’s the least I can do.”

Kurt tightens Blaine’s scarf more snuggly around his pet’s neck, then kisses him on the forehead, his hand cradling the back of Blaine’s head. Blaine bites his lower lip, waiting until a small collection of commuters bustles by before he speaks again.

“Actually, I wanted to say thank you, Sir.”

“For what, pet? It seems like you’re the one saving the day.”

“For being perfectly imperfect ...” Blaine peeks up at his Master through long eyelashes “… and for giving me the chance to serve you.”

Kurt’s heart flutters more excitedly by those words than it has by the entirety of his nerve-wracking morning. Leave it to Blaine to erase every anxiety he has and replace it with his own brand of knee-weakening charm – just as lethal, but a bit more familiar.

Easier to manage in a pinch.

“Well, then,” Kurt says, with a sassy hair flip that makes Blaine giggle, “you’ll be happy to know that I’m currently thinking of a dozen other, more wickedly fun ways for you to serve me the second we get back to our loft.”

He puts an arm around Blaine’s shoulders and leads him to the subway.

Blaine, with head bowed again, smiles contentedly. “I’m looking forward to it, Master.”