#find in the massive disorganized pile of things i leave behind

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[deadgirlrising]

Wrote a little backstory thing for Nalla, my aasimar paladin in @kloud‘s D&D campaign. Story below the cut, so I don’t take up your whole feed

Nalla had gotten up earlier than usual to make sure he was prepped.

First, she’d snuck into the kitchen and packed him a week’s worth of field rations, sturdy food that would keep for a while and not fall apart in his bag. Smart as Aukan was, he sometimes neglected the important little things, like whether he had enough food and water. The last time she’d left this to him, he’d packed some muffins and they’d gotten smooshed up in his saddlebags, and he’d only had enough for a day or two anyways.

Her next stop was the stables, where she checked over Quincy, his horse. He was clean, freshly brushed, and well-rested, his shoes in good shape for a long journey. Exactly as she’d expected. Not that she didn’t trust the folks working the stable, but it never hurt to check. Nalla saddled him, made sure everything was secure, and left him ready for his master.

She stood there a moment, going over a mental checklist, then marched back to the house and filled a small wineskin with water. Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, she thought of a happy memory, brought the mouth of the skin up to her lips, and gently blew into it. The scent of strawberry wine bloomed in her nose, pleasant and evoking warm summer days. Nalla took a sip, just to be sure, then nodded, grinned, and popped the stopper in. Perfect.

Back in the stables, she put it down in the bottom of Aukan’s bag: a nice surprise for later, when home was far away.

Almost as an afterthought, she added a small medical kit: bandages, surgical spirits, needle and thread, some dried herbs to help with pain. Basics, just in case.

“Seems I’ve caught you doing my job again,” Aukan said.  “You’re going to have to let me learn the hard way, one of these days.” His voice was a pleasant baritone, touched with amusement, their mother’s accent laying lighter than it did on her own voice.

Nalla looked up to find him in the doorway, leaning against the frame and giving her a sharp-toothed grin, his facial markings and molten gold eyes sparkling in the lamplight, seemingly relaxed. Aukan was tall, even by Evenwood standards, and as near to slender as their family got, dressed in sensible riding clothes; dark shirt and trousers, blue cloak pinned with a small golden broach shaped like a beetle. He wore a short, neat, white beard and had his white hair pulled back in a short tail between the upturned points of his golden horns. He held a pair of riding gloves in soft, long-fingered hands, golden talons manicured and gleaming. Only his tail, held low and wrapped close to his body, betrayed his anxiety.

She grinned back and futzed with Quincy’s mane. “You start taking care of yourself, I might do that.” Her own voice was a pleasant alto, their mother’s accent slightly thicker on her tongue. “But until then, I’ve got your back.”

It was an old routine. They took care of each other. Always had, always would.

Nalla came around the horse, towards Aukan. Now that she was paying attention, she could feel that perfect, gentle chord thrumming in her soul. She gestured to the bags piled around his feet, her golden nails and the markings on her rough, calloused palms glittering. “You want a hand with that lot?”

He looked down, as if he’d forgotten the bags were there. “Oh! Yes. Please.” He hefted a pair of them and handed them over.

She took them as if they weighed nothing and carried them over to set on the horse, redistributing the contents for a more balanced load. It was all books and writing supplies, not really a surprise. If Aukan was around, you could bet there would be books and things to take notes on. They finished loading up Quincy in comfortable silence.

“Is that everything?” Nalla peered past her brother’s shoulder at the empty doorway, half-expecting to see a lonely, forgotten bag. Probably with his clothes in it. There was nothing there.

Aukan pulled a small journal from a pocket and opened it, mouthing words as he marked things off with his fountain pen. After a few moments, he closed it and nodded, satisfied. “Yeah, that should do it.” The journal and pen disappeared back to where they came from.

She handed him the reins. He flopped them over Quincy’s neck and moved around the massive horse. “Can I get a hug before I go?”

“Of course, little brother!.” Nalla grinned and swept him up in one of her patented bear hugs, taking the poor man off his feet and crushing him to her breast.

He hugged her back, rolling his eyes (she was older by all of two minutes), and then started trying to wriggle free. “Can’t… breathe…”

Nalla set him down, mussing his hair and grinning, golden eyes bright.

Aukan wheezed comically for a moment, then stood straight, took out a small mirror, and set about smoothing his hair. He pouted. “I do wish you hadn’t done that. You know how long it takes me to get my hair just so.”

Eventually, he put the mirror away and gave his sister another hug. She returned it, much more gently this time.

“Are you ready, Auk?”

He pulled back, sighed, wiped his eyes and blew his nose on a kerchief, then took Quincy’s reins again. “No, not really. But if I don’t go now, I don’t know if I ever will.”

She opened the door and held it for him while he walked the horse out, shut the stable doors behind him, and they headed for the front gate, where a small crowd was waiting. Aukan’s somewhat impatient valet on his own horse, Nalla’s young squire, Kara, standing at ease with Morana and Lucian, Nalla’s other retainers. She made her way over to join them.

The rest of the family in a disorganized crowd to either side of the gate. They were a stark contrast to Aukan and Nalla, with their dark hair, brown eyes, and tan skin, but they were family. Their parents stood together, their father dabbing at his eyes with a kerchief, their mother standing on her good leg, strong and stoic, but hugging him gently to her side with one large hand.

Nalla stood with her staff while the family said their goodbyes, giving them space. She felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked down to find Morana giving her a questioning look. She gave her a weak smile. “I’m okay, ‘Ana, but thank you”

The dwarf nodded and looked back to the crowd, but left her hand on Nalla’s forearm, a comforting pressure.

Eventually, the crowd of family dispersed a bit and Aukan mounted up next to his valet. Nalla moved up to join the family, making her way to her twin. “Hey.”

He looked at her. “Hey.”

“Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t forget to write. Let me know if you’re in trouble.”

He smiled down at her. “I love you too, ‘La. I’ll be alright.” His smile turned to a grin, and he gestured to his valet. “I’ve got Himo here watching my back.”

The half-elf valet frowned slightly but said nothing.

Aukan said his final goodbyes and rode out the gate, off through the town, on the way to gods only knew where.

Nalla stood at the gate, watching as he dwindled into the distance, that perfect chord fading until only silence remained, leaving a space like an abandoned theater in her soul.

[wizardsnwookies]

TPR071618 - In the Serpent’s Coils

Galumak opened the door to a the smell of death and the flicker of a dozen torches in a distant chamber. A hall stretched from the back of the small open room that stood before them into a larger chamber. A clocked figure prostrated themselves before the looming stone visage of a twelve foot serpents, it’s head was that of a woman with her eyes wide and mouth agape. Fangs hung from the top row of teeth and seemed to shine with a terrible life.

“Looks like we found our necromancer.” Raam brushed a hand against one of the three wooden slab tables lined up neatly in the center of the room. Although made of new wood, they appeared older due to a dark staining. A reddish brown hue that was unmistakably dried blood. 

Raam kept his voice low, eyes straight forward on the figure in the distance. “You two ready?”

No answer was offered. Instead, Galumak pulled out the shortsword he had pilfered from the assassin’s corpse. He could feel the magic pulsing through the hilt, traveling up his arm. Guiding him, allowing him to strike true. He strode boldly into the hall, followed by his companions. As they broke the threshold into the larger chamber, the figure slowly rose to his feet and turned to face them.

“You have proven quite bothersome.” The face underneath the cowl was shriveled and pale, though his eyes were bright with a youth that suggested age had nothing to do with his appearance. “Given your talents I am prepared to-”

“I’m done talking.” Raam thrust his palm forward and shot a blast of eldrich power that struck the necromacer square in the chest. Like a child’s doll being thrown against a wall, he flew backwards and struck the mighty stone alter before collapsing onto the floor with a pained groan. His eyes glared at them with a dark fury, a gravely voice muttered some magical spell and a shimmering veil appeared around him.

The air just in front of Raam’s face displaced as some dark object cut through it with tremendous speed. He was so focused upon preparing his next attack he almost missed the second projectile that followed in quick succession.

“TO YOUR RIGHT!” Lash tossed a ball of flame to the eastern wall, where shadows had collected where it met the floor. Something was growing out of the darkness, like smoke billowing from a pipe, only blacker, and thicker like ink. In the light of their flame, Lash watched as the smoke writhed into the air and collected itself, slowly taking shape to that of a ghostly figure. It had no legs that reached the ground, but it had long spindly arms with fingers like the legs of a spider. And they were reaching out towards Raam.

Forewarned by his companion, Raam through out his arm just as the smokey figure reached him. It’s hands struck his gauntlet and dissipated into smoke once more. Through the armor, Raam felt a chill that rippled through his bones, like a blast of winter. The hellfire in his blood quickly chased away the cold. Turning, he countered the creature with a blast of eldrich power that sent it hurtling towards the wall. It struck the packed earth and exploded into wisps of darkness.

Galumak pressed the tip of his blade into the invisible barrier and thrust all his might into it. It refused to budge or even bend at his might, allowing the dark priest to stand and reach for a mighty hammer left leaning at the side of the alter. The head was made of heavy stone and carved into the face of a serpent. Hefting it in one hand he dropped the veil and sent the hammer crashing into Galumak’s chest.

Pain exploded through his body, he stumbled backwards doubled over, grinding his teeth. Through strained eyes, he watched as the priest readied for another attack. He wouldn’t be given the chance. Pushing through the pain, Galumak rose and plunged the blade straight through the man’s exposed mid-section. The hammer that had been held at the ready aloft fell to the damp ground with a sickening thud. The priest fell only when Galumak withdrew his blade, eyes wide in utter shock. He had thought himself like unto god, his mortality all too evident now.

“You OK?” Lash examined Raam’s arm, where the ghost-like being had connected with him had withered the armor. It was dry and brittle, the skin underneath was even redder than usual.

“Fine, thanks for the heads-up.” He took a step towards the priest before a flash of dizziness overtook him. Suddenly he felt as though he had not slept in days, and his legs could barely hold his weight.

“You are not ‘fine.’ Here...” Lash caught him as he fell, lifting him onto their shoulders before placing a hand on his chest. The room filled with the smell of damp grass after a fresh rain, and though there were no windows, warm sunlight fell upon the Teifling. Slowly, he felt a pleasant warmth shoot through his body, strengthening his legs, and filling him with vigor.

“I have no idea what that thing was, but all it had to do was touch you to do some serious damage. Best we take a rest before pushing forward.”

“Yes...that sounds wise.”

“Galumak?” Lash turned back to find the half-orc standing in front of the 12 foot obsidian statue that loomed upon the altar. In his hands, the serpent hammer was gripped tightly though still as if some repulsive object. In one smooth arc. Galumak swung the hammer wide, striking the statue on the side of the Naga’s gaping mouth. The obsidian shattered and large chunks were sent crashing onto the floor. 

Almost immediately the wooden panel behind the alter fell away, revealing a long dark hall that led into a chamber lit with a faint glowing light. The three looked at each other in confusion.

“A secret door?” Galumak examined the hammer before dropping it to the floor. “Did I do that?”

“The head, look.” Lash pointed to a clean line that ran around the neck of the statue. The head, or rather what was left of it, had been twisted on this pivot to one side. They looked back at Raam. “Still thinking we rest first?”

“Yes. We take nothing to chance down here. Remember, it’s not just our lives we forfeit if we fail.”

Both Galumak and Lash found it hard to argue with that. After claiming a set of keys, the only object on the priest’s person, they retreated to the cells where they might regain their strength.

---

The eerie green glow had awaited them patiently, it’s luminescence barely more than that of a candle only steadier, unfaltering. The three could smell and hear water in the distance, but that wasn’t unexpected. It seemed everywhere they turned in this place water had either seeped up from the ground or had flooded in by the heavy rains. Why would this new chamber be any different?

Galumak led them forward, his shortsword held at the ready, head buzzing with the memory of several gulps of wine. The fire in his veins was numbed for the moment, he just hoped he hadn’t overdone it. Unless there was an even lower floor to this place, it would not be long before they met this Naga. He would need his wits about him.

The hidden path behind the altar did not curve or bend, but led directly into a cavernous chamber beyond. The closer they got, the easier it was to see in the faint light. Another underground lake filled most of the space, ornately carved pillars rising from the waters periodically, covered in a bio-luminescent moss that provided the strange green light. But there was something else glittering in the soft light, just out of the corner of his eye.

Treasure. An immense pile of coin and gems massed in a disorganized heap on a patch of dry land to his right as they entered the chamber. It sat upon a crumbling marble dais, bordered on two sides by more marble pillars marked with age. Despite the small number of them, their arrangement gave the impression of a temple frozen in time. This temple’s god, sat coiled in wait upon her hoard of tributes.

“So they come, like all the others to bask in my glorious presence.” Explictica Defilius, Naga of the Rushmores, God to the Serpant cult, rose up to peer down at the three adventurers. Black stringy hair hung from her scalp like lake weed, wet and glistening. Her womanly features were not entirely human, the eyes larger, sharper in the corners, and her cheek bones looked as they could cut diamond. The serpentine coils of her lower half were black as night, striped with a faint olive green and a pale underbelly. When reared up at her full height, it wasn’t difficult to imagine how this impressively terrifying monster could convince others she was a great deity.

“Don’t look in her eyes!” Lash cried out and cast their eyes to the ground. Their heart pounded in their chest, the terrifying grinning visage burned into the back of their eyes.

“More informed they are, smart. Are they smart enough to accept my mercy? Accept my gift?”

“‘They’ are here to end this blasphemy.” Raam stood defiant, eyes cast downwards as he reached for the scroll tucked into the sash around his waist.

“A pity, these humans are so frail. They would have been better servants.” Explictica hissed a collection of magical words as if they were a curse. A sudden spark flared before her, growing into a massive broiling ball of flame. It shot forward with tremendous speed, the heat becoming nearly unbearable. Just when Galumak felt he could not bare any more, relief fell over him and he watched as the flames struck an invisible barrier and followed egulfed it until the three of them were inside a large orb of fire.

Raam let the parchment scroll fall to the ground, the magical words of protection fading into nothingness leaving only a blank page. As the fire subsided he tossed a ball of sulfer and smoke. It passed through the barrier with ease, striking the Naga in a section of exposed underbelly. It barely left a mark, and Explictica only offered a toothy smile in response.

A jolt of searing pain shot up her coils, her head twisted and writhed in agony. She glared down at Galumak, his short sword dripping in blood from where it had plunged within the coils. With a horrific his she struck like a viper, such terrific speed made her appear as no more to a blur to Galumak. He threw up his shield blocking stopping the unhinged lower jaw from swallowing it entirely. However, the two large fangs that hung from the top row of teeth had managed to slip past the wooden barrier, burying themselves into his arm.

Lash lunged forward and lodged the end of their quarterstaff into the corner of the Naga’s jaw. Using it as a lever, they threw all their weight downward, prying the maw open painfully wide even for it’s unhinged state. The corners of the cheek tore, mixing blood with saliva and venom before leaking past the lips in a long line of drool that fell to the ground.

The two puncture wounds in his arm oozed with blood, but Galumak was relieved to find himself neither sickly, nor weakened. Somehow, Pan only knows how, the venom he knew had been pumped into his veins had been neutralized. The fire perhaps? The very thing that cursed him, could it have burned away the toxins that threatened his very life? That was a question for later. For now, he had an opening, and Galumak took it.

Desperately trying to re-align her bottom jaw, Explictica reared up high to protect her wounded face. In doing so, she once again exposed a large section of underbelly. Galumak’s blade drew across it with ease, spilling out fat and tissue and fountains of blood. The Naga screamed in a voice both human and inhuman, a high pitched screech that pained their ears. And then, she was gone. Where a towering serpent had been, now was a void of damp cavern air.

“Where-?” The three looked at each other, as if the other had the solution, though neither offered any at first.

“I can still hear her breathing.” Galumak leveled his sword, searching for something, any clue as where the vile creature had gone. Inside the orb of protection that still shimmered like a gossamer veil Lash, having assumed the form of a wolf, bore their teeth and growled at the empty air before them. Finally, it clicked for them all at once.

“Invisibility spell...” Reaching for the second scroll in his sash, Raam spoke with confidence he did not feel. There was little doubt as to what spell she had used, what he did no know was how powerful a mage she was. The scroll in his hands was strong indeed, but would it be enough to dispel her magic?

In the very instant that Raam had uttered the last syllable, there was a rush of air and a burst of energy through the area. A dark shadow immediately fell upon the grey wolf within the party, Explictica loomed before them, face only inches away from their snout.

“They must help me. They must attack their friends for their God!”

Within their wolf brain, Lash felt something wriggling its way into their mind. A tickle, an impulse. They watched it for a moment, noting how it moved, how it teased the senses and twisted the thoughts that were already there. This charm was not like others they had heard of. It acted like one of the species of lizards within the Dim forest. It snuck into the nest, devouring the eggs that had been laid before laying their own leaving the unsuspecting bird to hatch their young. Once born, the bird would be torn to pieces. Lash’s mind however, was less a sparrow, and more a hawk. A bird of prey that was far from helpless.

With a mind very much their own, Lash lunged forward and sunk their teeth into Explicticas exposed face. Flesh tore from her cheeks as she desperately pulled away, screaming and cursing in a slurred speech.

“You vile, insignificant, creatures!” Twice now, her magic had been thwarted by the teifling. The half-orc was strong, but her coils would crush him to dust. The elf changling would get their comeuppance for resisting her charm. But if she were to have any chance to do any of it, the spell-caster would have to be dealt with first.

Opening her jaw to it’s full size, Raam stared down the gaping maw. He saw the venom sacs just under her eyes, filled like over-stuffed pillows. The ends of her fangs glistened with venomous dew, and in the blink of an eye she struck. Pain shot through his arm, his veins burning as the poison was pumped into his body. But there was another burning within him. He could feel it swell. A dark retribution from his patron, always watching him. With a vengeful smile, Raam reached out and grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking the Naga’s face towards his. In his eyes, Explictica saw a fury and flame she had not witnessed in any mortal creature before. For the first time in her life, she knew fear.

“Who’s insignificant now?” Raam forced his lips to hers in a kiss of death, the blazing inferno that erupted from him engulfing the Naga’s entire head. The room filled with the scent of scorched flesh and incinerated hair. It was only a few seconds before her strained screaming fell silent, and the smoldering lump of flesh that had once been her head fell lifeless into the dirt.

---

Raam awoke to Lash, back to their elf form, shaking him violently by the shoulders. “Raam? You OK? That was amazing!”

“Wha-?” He tried to shake the fog from his mind but found it held fast. There was a gap in his memory that began when the fangs sunk into his shoulder. The rest was darkness. He looked down at his feet to the smoldering heap for answers, but it offered him none. “I...I don’t remember doing that.”

“What do you mean?” Lash examined his wound before laying a hand upon it. Once again a burst of lavender filled the air, warm sunlight fell upon them, and the poison was gone.

“I mean, I blacked out. I...I don’t know what happened. It’s strange.”

“You sent that thing to the King in Yellow, that’s all that matters.” Galumak wiped his blade clean of the dark blood that had coated it and sheathed it at his hip. “It’s done. This nightmare is over.”

“No, not yet.” Raam stepped towards the shore, staring deep into the unexplored cavern that lay ahead. “There’s plenty more of this place. We’re not done until we search through every last room.”

“Any cultists will have snapped out of her charm the moment you barbecued her.”

“True, but the Trogs weren’t charmed. Plus, we need to be sure there aren’t any more of the necromancer’s abominations left roaming around.”

“He’s right.” Lash nodded, only half listening. Their attention had been drawn to the large pile of loot left abandoned in the corner.

“Fine.” Galumak shrugged, taking out a bottle of wine from his pack. “We go through the rest of this place and weed out any stragglers.”

“After we loot the hoard, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

Buy Me a Coffee

[secretgiftsforshaman]

I wrote 2826 entire words before I collapsed last night

I have been seriously struggling this academic quarter. And I seriously struggled last academic quarter. As I did in undergrad, and in high school, junior high, and elementary. But I do not have any learning disabilities. And you have some idea of how smart I am in general, but I’ll share one specific example about just how very academically intelligent I am. On the SAT, I scored 700 in reading, 730 in writing, and 780 in math and I did not study for it. I spent most of the test bored and waiting for the allotted time to run out because I finished nearly every section way early. Early enough that at one point I had enough time to leisurely leave and use the restroom and came back before everyone else had finished. The only reason I did not score a perfect 800 in math because I missed *exactly* one question. I can still remember and visualize exactly which one it was – and only I missed it because it was the second to last one of the last math section and my brain read the word ‘diameter’ and was tired enough that my brain went ‘oh cool, radius’ even though I could have easily solved that problem when I was 11 or 12 (if you haven’t already gone “wow, she’s got some serious perfectionism issues” then now would be a good time for you to do so).

All of this to say: it has never been a question of not being able to understand the content. Very, very rarely in my entire scholastic lifetime have I ever not understood what was being taught to me. It is – and always has been – a matter of not being able to sit down and do the work.

One of the rubs of being so smart (especially when also socially inept – I don’t think I’ve ever had a formal diagnosis, but I would be astonished to learn if I wasn’t somewhere on the autism spectrum) is that your sense of self-worth is all too easily conflated with your intelligence and academic performance, placing massive pressure on yourself to be good at school, ‘cause that’s one of the few things I was reliably good at. 

Most of my school-age bullies, particularly the loudest ones, were just as smart as I was: all enrolled in the same accelerated classes, but they didn’t struggle the way I did, and they definitely saw it, and made sure I knew they did. They could all do their homework and turn things in on time, but I just couldn’t sit down and do even the simplest assignments sometimes – let alone the big projects and reports, not without crippling deadline pressure. My parents and teachers also tended to view the situation as if there was some kind of issue with me, too: that I was lazy/disorganized/not ‘applying myself’/needed discipline and punishment and then I’d be fine – alllll of that unhelpful bullshit.

Nobody thought that I wasn’t smart enough, though. Clearly, I was always great on tests: sit me down and ask me what I know and if there’s a definitive correct answer then odds are good that I knew what it was, so I excelled in math and science, and I took great comfort from knowing what I was doing and working familiar problems over and over. But having to go find sources for research and report on something or answer essay style questions – anything subjective or humanities-ish – was my kryptonite. I couldn’t ever say “this is enough information, this is complete and I’m done now” – once I started searching I’d drown in all of the information available and not be able to pull myself out with just enough to get the job done. I would become paralyzed simply by the thought of needing to sit down and do schoolwork, so I’d avoid it and distract myself with reading or anything else BUT schoolwork. And if I ever fell behind (which ALWAYS happened because that’s what happens when your avoidant coping is your default), then it was like pouring anti-napalm on everything: I’d be even more frozen and unable to function, like cold terrified acid licking through my veins. I have been a student most of my life – 21 and a half years to date – and the entire fucking time I’ve been limping along like this, always hoping at the start of each new term that This Time, somehow, I could Just Do It Already The Way I Should Be Able To, but over and over that optimism has crumbled to ashes in that undying flame of fear, paralysis, self-disgust, and despair.

I am able, now, to identify and name what I have suffered from my entire life, the condition that I was made to carry so much crippling SHAME for, that I learned to hide almost completely from all of my loved ones for over a decade so nobody would see that shame and decide to think less of me.

I have anxiety and complex PTSD. 

Where one ends and the other begins isn’t worth the effort of trying to tease them apart. The DSM-5 is an imperfect tool and no diagnosis is a uniform monolith – anxiety, PTSD, depression, and every other name of every other illness is merely a professional shorthand for “all/most of these symptoms are present.” It makes much more sense to treat my anxiety and PTSD as a single condition. Moreover, I have a strong suspicion that my endocrine disorder, PCOS, was triggered by the chronic stress/elevated cortisol and insulin (because one of the most socially acceptable ways for our nervous systems to regulate and soothe themselves when under stress is with food), and if it isn’t completely just part of the same thing, then it’s LARGELY overlapping with the anxiety/PTSD (I know that my mother and grandmother suffered in a very similar way in school, and I know that the PCOS is tied to inherited/ancestral trauma, so it makes every kind of sense if the anxiety/PTSD that we all have is related as well). 

I have had a generalized anxiety disorder diagnosis on my chart for years, and I’ve known, in my rational brain, that I’ve needed to get it under control to feel better and function in school (and to be honest, with almost all other professional/adulting things too). But thinking about what I need and actually DOING something about it are such utterly different things. It has only been in the past few weeks that I have been able to admit to myself that I need real, professional help to overcome this condition – and to ask for and start receiving that help. There is a big culture in my family, especially us women, about ignoring our own issues and focusing on helping other people first (I know I must have written to you about this before), so this has been a massive step for me. 

For a while I’ve been struggling to stay on top of my classes, and have fallen behind in all four of them, and the feeling of being overwhelmed has only increased exponentially. I’ve wanted, desperately, to go to an emotional ER so many times the past month, so much so that I found myself wanting (and knowing on a deep level that my body needs) some kind of pharmaceutical support to get me through the fucking day and allow me to do some of the massive, teetering pile of backlogged work. Upon hearing about my experiences of paralysis and dysfunction, and scoring very high on the anxiety diagnosis questionnaire she used, my doc, who rarely reaches for her Rx pad off the bat, suggested putting me on Clonidine (non-addictive, originally developed for hypertension) especially after my double-checked at-home blood pressure reading was 154/80 (which is consistent with STAGE 2 HYPERTENSION in an otherwise healthy and young TWENTY-NINE YEAR OLD for fucks sake)(insert emojis denoting ABJECT PANIC here).

I am comforted by the fact that my doctor, who I’ve seen since I was a tweenager, has shifted in the past few years to specialize in treating addiction and substance dependency, so if there’s anybody who I can trust to medicate me without causing a chemical dependence it’s her (thank GODDESS). Dr. M agrees with my perspective that the meds are just a temporary measure to alleviate my symptoms enough to function, and that the true treatment is the therapy work that I’ve been trying to do for myself, but there’s only so much you can do all by your lonesome, no matter how many self-help books you read (and goodness knows I’ve read a TON).

So I also finally started seeing a therapist (!), and just admitting some of this out loud to another person has been so profoundly healing. Our second session was this past Wednesday, and I was able to start opening up and telling her that I think my anxiety traces back to ancestral trauma and how I feel called to use a bottom-up, somatic approach (hence my recent interest in shamanism, ritual, soul retrieval, transpersonal psychology, etc., which she’s totally accepting of; again, THANK GODDESS).

One of the many many many self-help books that I’ve had my nose in is “The Instinct to Heal: Curing Depression, Anxiety, and Stress Without Drugs and Without Talk Therapy” by David Servan-Schreiber, MD, PhD (which I started reading like a day before I finally admitted that I needed to take drugs and do talk therapy *laughing at myself emoji here*). Servan-Schreiber beautifully articulated the relationship between our neocortex: the newly, highly developed, outer portions of the brain where our logic, reason, cognition, and consciousness arise from, and our limbic system: the older, more primitive inner section of our brains that controls our unconscious, autonomic physiological processes (like breathing, digestion, heart rate, etc.), trauma, instinct, intuition, and emotion, and is therefore far more deeply and intensely connected to the body (and bodily held memories) than the neocortex. 

I’ve been running around in my rational, conscious, neocortex mind *thinking* about all of my issues and traumas and everything for ages, and I understand so much about these things on that rational level – but that is miles away from the irrational, unconscious, limbic bodymind where all of those traumas actually ARE and continue to play out over and over as if they’re still happening. This is something that my therapist helped me understand – our neocortex understands that this is a different time and the thing that happened in the past is over and done and we’re safe now, but the limbic system has no sense of time. In our irrational reptile brains, everything still exists the same as it did all those years ago as if it never stopped happening. THIS is where our inner wounded child lives, where a soul fragment likely fled from for safety in the midst of the unendurable whatever-it-was that precipitated the trauma response, and where the empty spot is where it needs to be called back to still resides, open and waiting and longing. 

THIS is why I’ve felt called towards the irrational, mystical, shamanic modes of healing: I’ve done as much as I can with my rational mind, which cannot be used to solve an irrational problem or heal an irrational wound, which is what all trauma is. A couple of weeks ago, when I asked you for your help as a shaman with conducting a soul retrieval, this is the kind of work that I was starting to realize that I need to do. The crazy Thing That I Did that I told you about (and meant to describe for you more at the time but I was exhausted and desperately needed the rest instead) was a small and beautiful spontaneous retrieval of a part of me when I was seven, a part that was thirteen, and a part of me as a young infant that I brought to my own breast in recognition that I was both deserving of my own love, nourishment, and care, and capable of being a loving, heart-centered parent to myself. I felt all of the past, younger versions of me that I’ve already been gathered in concentric circles within me, and all of the older versions of me that I’ve not yet been spiraling around me, and my ancestors and guides and spirits and all of the love and kindness that anyone has ever directed towards me gathered around all of me like a compassionate embrace, and I think that it was that experience that gave me just enough of my soul back, just enough juice and magic that I could start digging my teeth in and taking the steps I needed to take to seek treatment and get my legs back underneath me.

As amazing and beautiful as that experience was, it wasn’t everything that I need in order to heal. I want to do a soul retrieval/healing ritual to unfreeze the part of me (and the part of my mother, grandmother, and other ancestors) that is stuck in that root trauma – where the anxiety, complex PTSD, PCOS - where all of that junk stems from. I don’t yet have much sense at all what that’s gonna look like, but I know that it’s gonna be the biggest damn spell I’ve ever cast, and that I don’t think I can cast it alone. Watch this space.

I do think, though, that preparing for that is the thing to do for now, by accumulating small things on multiple fronts – growing my strength, calling back small parts of me, telling more and more loved ones about my truth, chipping away at the stack of things to do, continuing with meds and therapy, contacting my professors and possibly the department/program admin (with a letter from Dr. M in hand documenting my diagnosis and treatment) to let them know that I need help I’m figuring out how to make up for assignments that I haven’t turned in and make sure that I can continue next quarter and not get kicked out of the program. I’m still carrying a lot of fear of failure/expulsion around this (and anxiety = paralysis = inaction for me, even though I desperately want to fix it) – especially after handling myself so badly in a similar situation at the end of last quarter. When you’ve got a minute, I’d appreciate a pep talk about broaching the subject with them.

All in all, I’m doing well and things are looking up in a way I’ve NEEDED them to start looking up for literal decades. I’ve even been able to start telling my mother about how badly I’ve been doing (she knows I’ve seen my doctor and started therapy and meds) and allowing her to see that pain and struggle after years of hiding it from her out of shame has been scary but such a relief. But Goddess Knows I’ve got A LOT to do still. Just cause I’ve finally struck a match and can navigate a little better doesn’t mean I’m out of the dungeon yet.

I began the meds just yesterday, and I’ve spent the day decompressing (never been a better time for me to have a few days all to myself kitten-sitting for some friends while they go to a tiny, COVID-regulation compliant thanksgiving visit with their family in Portland). Drowsiness is a listed side effect of Clonidine, and I was really worried that my prescribed dose was too high after being soooooo tired yesterday and today after I took the pills, but my increasing suspicion is that I’ve just been so high-strung and hypervigilant (hello super premature hypertension!) that the anti-anxiety/BP-lowering drug just uncovered the chronic e x h a u s t I o n that was already (always) there, rather than them making me drowsy when I wasn’t. So I’ve spent the day eating my friend’s leftovers (she’s an AMAZING cook) and cat napping with the two sweetest little troublemakers you ever did see (I’ll send pics!). 

I think that FINALLY being able to relax like this was what helped me to begin to be receptive and start opening up (and connecting with you!) again. Anxiety = I clam up, my libido nosedives, and my pelvic tightness/vaginal armoring gets painful and rigid – all bad prospects for wild, sexy, blooming Love-Lust-and-Light fun. I was so glad to reconnect with you – and that you reminded me that I need to get this out and I can process it and heal it by sharing it with you – that our Sacred Space is still there for me to use and pour my pain and magic and consciousness out into.

I think that’s all the most important developments. I’m excited to hear all about all of your new developments, processing, perspectives too. 

And now I’m gonna go to bed. One nap today was NOT enough to recover from  goddess-knows-how-long-I’ve-had-this chronic fatigue. I’ll talk to you soon

I love you, Άδης

Your Εκάτε <3

[sdhs-enjolras]

{OOC} An extremely detailed list of headcanons because why not?

Questions from here

What does their bedroom look like?

He keeps things relatively simple, but at the same time he totally doesn’t. The walls are a basic off-white, but you couldn’t tell without looking really closely, as nearly every inch is covered in flyers from various marches and protests, corny posters that are left over from middle school that he never took down, framed pictures of his family and friends, and at the center of it all, a massive bulletin board with so much stuff pinned onto it that it seems like a moot point in terms of keeping things organized. He’s got a small, flat-screen TV on top of his dresser, and a (hand-me-down from his parents) queen-sized mattress that rests on the floor across from it with no frame bc frankly, he just thinks it’s more comfortable that way. There is almost always a pile of crumpled up papers lying on the ground by his bed, even though there is a garbage can just a few steps away, beside the desk where he does his homework. Any other writing is done in the comfort of the bed, wrapped in at least five fluffy blankets with the TV on quietly in the background and a mug of coffee on his bedside table. Enj may be tough, but when it’s an appropriate time, he loves to get cozy. As lazy as he can get in the comfort of home, he still wouldn’t be caught dead leaving his laundry on the floor, so there is a hamper near the door, which is almost never empty because he goes through clothes at a shockingly fast rate.

Do they have any daily rituals?

Does coffee count? He can’t even function without at least one cup of coffee in the morning.

Do they exercise, and if so, what do they do? How often?

Enj always plans on exercising, but oftentimes finds himself too busy to do so. When he can, he usually will go for a brisk walk and listen to music, but most of his athletic activity is limited to Phys Ed class.

What would they do if they needed to make dinner but the kitchen was busy?

Whether the kitchen is busy or not, you’d better pray Enjolras isn’t cooking dinner. The boy could burn soup.

Cleanliness habits (personal, workspace, etc.)

In terms of hygiene, Enj usually makes sure everything is nice and clean and sanitary (usually in case Joly drops by) but in terms of organization, he is a total mess. Finding anything in Enjolras’ room, backpack, or locker is like going on the world’s most boring and overcomplicated scavenger hunt.

{putting the rest under a read more bc it’s hella long}

Eating habits and sample daily menu

I wouldn’t say that he is a health nut, but he and his family certainly pay attention to what food they consume. There is only organic, non-GMO food in the house, and any and all animal products come from local sources so that they can know where it’s from, and that the animals are being treated humanely. (When going out to eat at a restaurant, Enj will often stick with vegan meals, but he won’t exactly shy away from a really good burger, if it’s tasty enough.) Breakfast is always simple, usually just scrambled eggs and toast or something like that. Lunch is always a sandwich of some kind and like, some fruit, veggies, and chips on the side because he makes it himself, and that’s the one meal that he can prepare without any sort of catastrophe taking place. Dinner is the big meal each day. What it is varies day-by-day, but the whole family always gathers around the table and eats together and talks about their day.

Favorite way to waste time and feelings surrounding wasting time

TV shows are his downfall. Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Parks and Rec are two of his favorites, but nothing quite compares to his greatest guilty pleasure, which is Saturday Night Live. He loves SNL, and will waste hours watching it on YouTube. Usually, he sticks with the political sketches, but some of the classics (and modern classics) tend to pop up a lot. David S. Pumpkins has become a favorite. However, he always beats himself up when he wastes a lot of time, because he has so drilled into himself the importance of getting things done and working every moment to do so. When other people waste time, it drives him absolutely insane.

Favorite indulgence and feelings surrounding indulging

A trip to the movie theater. It may not seem like an indulgence, but due to his busy schedule (and the fact that he still doesn’t have a car) he almost never gets the chance to go see a movie, and when he does, he goes all-out; large popcorn with extra butter, slushie, chocolate, the lot. It is shocking how much he can eat in one sitting when he’s at the movies. He has less of a problem with indulging, as long as time is allotted for it beforehand to avoid any potential guilt.

Makeup?

He has attempted to wear it just for the heck of it, but quickly learned that his skill level in terms of applying makeup is pretty close to his cooking ability. If any of his friends offer, he’s not opposed, though. F**k gender roles, amiright? 

Neuroses? Do they recognize them as such?

Hell yeah, Enj is an incredibly anxious human being, and to an extent, he acknowledges that he is stressed out most of the time, but he has yet to realize that there’s more to his anxiety than the fact that he’s busy all the time.

Intellectual pursuits?

He wants to at least know at least the basics of five different languages by the time he’s twenty. So far, he’s obviously fluent in English, and his French is pretty damn strong, especially considering he only started studying it a year ago, but Spanish is proving to be a pain in the neck.

Favorite book genre?

Dystopian fiction, without a doubt (though he has to admit that he was a total Harry Potter geek as a kid and some of that certainly stuck).

Sexual Orientation? And, regardless of own orientation, thoughts on sexual orientation in general?

Asexual, and super gay. In terms of other people’s sexual orientation, he’s literally chill with whatever.

Physical abnormalities? (Both visible and not, including injuries/disabilities, long-term illnesses, food-intolerances, etc.)

He’s got a small scar on his leg from when he was a kid. Nobody can quite agree on the story of how he got it. There’s another scar on his shoulder that he likes to claim that he got in a fight at a protest, but his friends know that he just spooked his grandma’s cat a couple years ago and it went off on him. 

Biggest and smallest short term goal?

Biggest: get into a really good college Smallest: learn how to make a meal that isn’t a sandwich

Biggest and smallest long term goal?

Biggest: change the entire world for the better Smallest: go on a vacation to Disney World at some point

Preferred mode of dress and rituals surrounding dress

Jeans (yeah, sometimes even skinny jeans, which are unfairly flattering), a t-shirt (usually with some social justice mantra printed on it), a cardigan or unbuttoned flannel or button-up over the t-shirt, and brown combat boots. Sometimes a beanie, but he doesn’t want to be called a hipster, so he usually passes on that. He has no real ritual, he kinda just throws it on when he gets out of the shower.

Favorite beverage?

Coffee, but then again, he considers it more of a survival tactic than an enjoyable beverage and actually hates the taste so much that his coffee is like, mostly cream and sugar, so more realistically, probably Sprite.

What do they think about before falling asleep at night?

Way deeper things than one should think about before sleep. Systemic racism, widespread homophobia, the patriarchy and rape culture, the struggles of refugees, the fact that Donald Trump is a thing, etc. Probably why he doesn’t really sleep that much.

Childhood illnesses? Any interesting stories behind them?

He swears to god that he had the swine flu way back when that was a thing. His parents say that it was just a stomach bug. 

Turn-ons? Turn-offs?

Since he’s ace af, it’s not the typical sexual definition of turn-ons and turn-offs, but he will automatically like you if he catches you doing some random act of kindness. Some kid got tripped in the hallway and you scrambled to help them pick up their books even though you were already running late? You are now automatically Enjolras’ best friend. As for a turn-off, any sort of support for Donald Trump oughta do it. After an incredibly awkward encounter at the grocery store, he still won’t talk to two of his cousins who were walking around with “Make America Great Again” hats on.

Given a blank piece of paper, a pencil, and nothing to do, what would happen?

Either the most uplifting speech in history, or nonsensical rambling, depending on how much caffeine is in his system.

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest in their everyday life?

“Organized” is not a word in Enjolras’ vocabulary. He’s got better things to do than waste time making sure everything is in its proper place and labelled and whatnot. He often finds himself regretting this thinking when he can’t find anything ever.

Is there one subject of study that they excel at? Or do they even care about intellectual pursuits at all?

History is pretty much a total breeze. His average last year was literally over 100, because he aced every homework assignment and every exam, and did stuff for extra credit, which is fitting, because he, as a person, happens to be incredibly Extra™.

How do they see themselves 5 years from today?

Being pretty much the same as he is now, but probably in college and hopefully taller because right now he’s like, 5′5″.

Do they have any plans for the future? Any contingency plans if things don’t workout?

Honestly, he’s not quite sure what he wants to do with his life. He’s seriously considering becoming a politician, but there is secretly a part of him that really wants to be a teacher.

What is their biggest regret?

If we’re being serious, probably the fact that he has pushed a lot of people away due to his own issues without ever explaining why. If we’re not being serious, when he was a kid, he went through a phase where he refused to cut his hair and it got unbelievably long and out of control and every time he sees a picture of himself from those days, he cringes.

Who do they see as their best friend? Their worst enemy?

He doesn’t tend to pick favorites, and typically considers all of his friends to be equal, but if he had to choose who his best friend is, he’d probably say either Courfeyrac or Combeferre. He doesn’t personally know anyone who he considers his enemy, but I guess you could say just, like, the entire alt-right movement. 

Reaction to sudden extrapersonal disaster (eg The house is on fire! What do they do?)

React quickly, immediately falling into a leadership role, making sure everyone is okay and things are as under control as possible until the situation has been managed. Once it’s over, he acts stoic and unemotional, spitting out harsh “I’m fine”-s to anyone who checks up on him. Only when he is alone does he finally allow himself to break down.

Reaction to sudden intrapersonal disaster (eg close family member suddenly dies)

Kind of similar. His immediate reaction to any sort of shock or trauma is an unhealthy level of stoicism and a little bit of dissociation, followed way later by an actual emotional response in private. If he doesn’t get the chance to let it all out, he will end up crying uncontrollably over the littlest thing. When his dog died in middle school, he ended up sobbing in the middle of math class because his pencil broke.

Most prized possession?

A t-shirt that was signed by Bernie Sanders. The guy is like, his idol. One time, he went to one of his rallies and got so passionate that he cried.

Thoughts on material possessions in general?

They’re fine, as long as they aren’t the highlight of a person’s life.

Concept of home and family?

He’s lucky enough to have an incredibly supportive family and a nice house, but he understands that other people don’t, and wants to do what he can to help them.

Thoughts on privacy? (Are they a private person, or are they prone to ‘TMI’?)

It depends on who he’s with, honestly. To some people, he’s the mysterious rebel whose identity revolves solely around rejecting the status quo and questioning authority, while to his others, he’s the absolute dork who talks too much, gets overly excited about the movie theater, gushes about how cool his friends are, and was forced by his mom to quit volunteering at the animal shelter after two days because he tried to adopt eleven dogs.

What activities do they enjoy, but consider to be a waste of time?

Video games. He is the undefeated king of Mario Kart, but only ever plays it when his friends are over.

What makes them feel guilty?

Literally everything. Someone should talk to this kid, he acts like every injustice in the world is his fault somehow. 

Are they more analytical or more emotional in their decision-making?

He likes to think that he’s analytical, but if you really look at it, every decision he makes is based almost entirely on his emotions.

Would they consider themselves a Type A or Type B personality?

Type A, definitely. Enj has no chill.

What recharges them when they’re feeling drained?

Spending time with his friends will always cheer him up, no matter what.

Would you say that they have a superiority-complex? Inferiority-complex? Neither?

Somehow, he seems to have both. He thinks that he is morally superior to an awful lot of people, but in every other aspect, his self-esteem is certainly not what it should be.

How misanthropic are they?

Not even a little bit.

Hobbies?

He loves making playlists for pretty much any reason. He’s also secretly good at sewing, and is really skilled at making stuffed animals. He makes Christmas presents for his little cousins, who all think he’s totally awesome.

How far did they get in formal education? What are their views on formal education vs self-education?

He’s still in high school, but he thinks that education is really important. Frankly, he doesn’t believe that self-education is necessarily a good idea unless you are a really dedicated person, because it is easy to slack off when you set your own parameters.

Religion?

He’s an atheist, but still celebrates Christian holidays because they’re too fun to pass up. Logically, he knows that since he doesn’t care about religion and passionately hates capitalism, he should despise Christmas with every fiber of his being, but it’s his favorite day of the year anyway, and nothing is ever going to change that.

Superstitions or views on the occult?

None, really. Cults creep him out, not for spiritual reasons, but just because of their tendency to brainwash and murder people.

Do they express their thoughts through words or deeds?

Both, actually.

If they were to fall in love, who (or what) is their ideal?

Someone who loves him despite his flaws, who will stand with him and oppose injustice, and is fine with owning a lot of pets.

How do they express love?

Enj actually gets really sappy with the people he cares about, sending texts and hiding notes with sweet messages. He takes note of the little things, picks up on when someone doesn’t like something and changes it, or figures out that they want something and makes it happen. 

If this person were to get into a fist fight, what is their fighting style like?

He’s easily angered but still incredibly smol, like really he’s the living embodiment of this picture:

So, when he fights, it’s usually against someone way taller than him, and he just relies on a lot of repetitive punching and kicking. Not exactly graceful, but it gets the job done.

Is this person afraid of dying? Why or why not?

Not really, but he usually tries not to think about it anyway.

[avecorviidae]

Fic: Aubade - Chapter Eight

Fandom: Mob Psycho 100 Rating: M Relationship(s): Kageyama Ritsu/Suzuki Shou Word Count: 3089

Ao3 Link

The funny thing is, Ritsu definitely knows Shou, and he’s not trying to brag when he says he’d put money on knowing him a whole lot better than anyone has in quite a while, maybe ever.

Ritsu knows what Shou looks like when he’s choking back tears, knows the hysteria that edges into his laugh when he’s running on no sleep, knows about his favourite movies, about the pet hamster he’d had when he was ten, knows that his mother used to tell him stories to make him sit still in the bath. He’s faced up against psychic apocalypses with him, written essays for him, has probably been dragged across every street in Seasoning five times over just talking to him.

He’s sat beside him on a pile of debris, far enough away from the city center that they wouldn’t be bothered by the news crews puttering about, filming pieces about a nationwide tragedy and talks of a memorial site, reciting lines about rising death tolls and search crews. He remembers the tremor in Shou’s hands, in his voice, when he’d said, I don’t think I’m ever gonna see my dad again, and above all, remembers the unguarded relief in his laugh when Ritsu had immediately said, Good fucking riddance.

So yeah, he knows Shou.

Therefore it’s naturally surprising when the first few weeks of living with him turn into an exercise in the ways that he apparently doesn’t.

-

Shou drifts into the living room one afternoon and grabs his wallet off of the coffee table, says, “Hey, I’m going out, wanna come?” And Ritsu would, except that he keeps getting these really worrying emails from the school about some paperwork that he’s definitely already filled out and turned in, except some fucking genius has apparently gone and lost it, and he tells Shou so. He winces in sympathy and gives him a hissed “Good luck, dude,” before leaving.

Between the paperwork and getting caught up grovelling with this one professor to make space in her psych class that Ritsu’s been dying to take, he’s been a little distracted the past few days, but he’s pretty sure he’s not imagining the fact that things keep appearing in their kitchen. Like, he’d convinced himself that maybe he’d just forgotten one of them buying the flour, the olive oil, even the garlic cloves he finds in the pantry, but he can’t quite resolve memory blanks with the fucking blender and toaster oven that seem to will themselves into existence on the countertop.

And he’d ask Shou about it, right, except that once the jetlag had worn off, Shou’s naturally nocturnal sleep schedule had reasserted itself, so more and more Ritsu’s mostly catching him in the afternoon and the evening, by which point just talking to Shou about whatever’s going on that day takes precedent over bringing up the little spontaneous appliance phenomenon in their kitchen. Honestly, he’s seen weirder.

-

It’s about four in the afternoon and he’s curled up on the sofa with a book when he finally hears Shou’s bedroom door open and close, and then footsteps in the hallway.

“Morning,” he calls out. “Should I order pizza for dinner?” Which is… kind of a chronological contradiction, but it’s one Ritsu’s chosen to embrace.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Shou answers, appearing in the doorway, and Ritsu blinks in surprise when he realizes that he’s already fully clothed. He’d become intimately acquainted with the sight of Shou wandering around the apartment in boxers and old shirts, moaning about how hard it was to shower and get dressed, and god, Ritsu, we can’t all be functioning adults, jeez.

A wide grin and then Shou’s gone again, and about ten minutes later, Ritsu starts hearing odd noises from the kitchen. There’s a distinctly metallic clutter, and at first he figures Shou’s probably dropped something, but then there’s the sounds of the fridge opening and closing a couple of times, cabinets clattering shut, and then beeping, of all things.

Ritsu glances down at his book, considering. It’s poetry, and not of the sort that he’d usually pick up on his own, but someone had warned him it was assigned reading for next year, and he’s intimately acquainted with professors’ tendencies to assign more and more reading during the busiest parts of the year. Better, he’s thinking, to have read it over summer and have a distant memory of it, than to have not read it at all and be four chapters behind with an essay due in three other classes.

The rustling in the kitchen abruptly switches to the sound of a very persistent SWAT team who forgot their battering ram at home and decided to use a hammer.

Ritsu looks down at the poetry book again.

It’s, well, it’s bad.

He’s more than willing to let himself be distracted.

In the kitchen, Shou is–

Ritsu raises his voice over the din. “What the hell are you doing, Suzuki?”

Shou looks up at him, unidentified hammer-like object still raised in mid-swing. There’s a hanging moment of dead, charged silence where Ritsu watches Shou’s eyes dart to the thing in his hands, down to the pink wrapped package on the counter, and back to Ritsu.

“I’m beating my me–”

“I will murder you if you finish that sentence. ”

Shou makes a face, tongue out, but corrects haughtily, “I am tenderizing my chicken.” He whacks the chicken on the counter lightly for emphasis. Ritsu elects to take the high road and not point out that it still somehow sounds alarmingly sexual when he puts it like that.

Shou’s “This is gonna be loud” is Ritsu’s only warning before he goes back to pounding.

Their kitchen isn’t massive, but it’s a decent size for an apartment, large enough that there’s a small island countertop up against the wall, and space for a couple of barstools. Ritsu hops up on one, surveying Shou’s work.

It looks like a disorganized disaster to his eyes. Every countertop is covered with a detritus of spilled flour and egg shells, bowls and utensils strewn about everywhere. Shou’s only been in the kitchen for about fifteen minutes, but Ritsu can’t tell how much of this stuff is already dirty and how much is yet to be used.

They’ve been pretty good about splitting the dishes evenly so far, but Ritsu’s already decided that this is Shou’s mess to clean up, entirely.

After what feels like an eternity of Shou going at his chicken with what, upon closer inspection, is a large spiked mallet that may be the most intimidating thing Ritsu has ever seen, Shou finally holds up his newly flattened chicken, grinning at Ritsu in satisfaction.

“Lovely,” Ritsu says, raising an eyebrow. “Should I tell the neighbours they can call off the noise complaints?” For once, Shou doesn’t rise to the bait and give him a response. He’s glancing over his shoulder distractedly, and Ritsu watches his eyebrows furrow, then tastes metal on his tongue as Shou absently gestures with one hand. For a split second, the air in the room hangs on a precipice, sharp and sweet and making Ritsu’s skin dance in anticipation. The kitchen jumps to life in a haze of glowing orange.

Ritsu blinks, and it takes him a few moments to grasp the movements of the intricate dance Shou’s choreographed. The chicken is now nudging itself to the side, fighting for counter space with a couple of bowls floating over from by the sink, one of which sends up a small puff of flour when it lands. He watches Shou weave his way towards the microwave, leaning easily to dodge the high-speed projectiles that come flying out of the fridge. He gets a little lost in it, watching dumbly as eggs crack themselves into the empty bowl, while on the other side of the kitchen Shou’s doing something with a cheese grater and a tray of toasted breadcrumbs. A knob on the stove clicks, a frying pan goes shooting over Shou’s head and settles on one of the burners, all the while a fork is doing its best to beat the eggs into oblivion, sending little flecks flying out of the bowl from sheer aggression. Shou appears back in front of Ritsu with his breadcrumbs in hand, as a small plastic-wrapped sphere makes its way from the freezer to the counter, settling itself politely just in front of Ritsu.

Just like a fucking Disney movie, he thinks, somewhat horrified, staring at the little bundle of… butter? He’s half expecting it to burst into song.

He feels it the second Shou drops his control, hadn’t quite noticed how thoroughly his aura had been spreading through the room until the warmth started to recede, seeping from his skin like he’s just stepped out of broad daylight into the shade. And yeah, they’re at the point in summer where even with the air conditioning blasting they’re both feeling worn out and hazy in the heat, but Ritsu still finds himself flipping his wrist on the countertop, watching as the last of Shou’s aura lingers on his fingertips, and still finds himself missing it a little once it’s gone.

The pinprick tingling that’s left on his palms is both foreign and familiar, echoes of being fourteen and trying to figure out why it felt weird and different when Shou grabbed his wrist or threw an arm around his shoulders, trying to get used to the feeling of an unfamiliar aura in his space. There’s this odd sort of pang in his chest when he realizes he’s barely touched Shou since they moved in, despite the constant proximity. It honestly hadn’t even occurred to him, and he’s so used to Shou being the one who comes to him… Well, maybe being around him so much meant that it wasn’t occurring to Shou either.

He shakes himself, looks up to see Shou, nose scrunched in concentration and the corners of his mouth twitching downwards as scoops spoonfuls of the butter ball into the center of each piece of chicken and wraps it around, then carefully rolling each bundle in the flour bowl, the egg bowl, and the breadcrumbs. Ritsu has to squint, tilt his head to see his aura clinging to him, distorting the air like heat off of a stove.  

Ritsu’s distracted, off in his own thoughts, but he still finds himself leaning forward on his forearms, asking, “What are you making?” Shou glances up briefly to make eye contact, smiles at him, looks back down. “Chicken kiev,” he replies, a little distantly. “It’s tenderized chicken breast filled with garlic butter, breaded, fried, then baked.” A pause, then he adds, “Or at least, that’s how I’ve always made it. I dunno, it’s not exactly a family recipe passed down to me from an old babushka or anything, this could totally be a cultural disaster if I ever made this for a Russian.”

“I’ll tell Sergei to stay home then,” Ritsu quips, and holy shit is he grateful for his reflexive sarcasm because he really needs to be able to stall while his brain comes back online. Or at least, to tell himself not to be an idiot, because watching his best friend breading chicken should not be a severely existential crisis-inducing event.

Even so, it’s not until Shou’s floated everything over to the oven and started dropping chicken in the pan that Ritsu finally manages to ask, “So you cook?”

Shou nudges him with his elbow – Ritsu had wandered further into the kitchen, found himself squeezed between Shou and the corner of the room, leaning against the counter beside the stove – and laughs. “I mean, yeah, dude. I’ve been living alone for like, a while, and like, don’t get me wrong, I’d probably die for a bowl of ramen if it asked me to, but the takeout stuff gets gross after a while.”

So, don’t get Ritsu wrong here, it’s not like he thought Shou was functionally useless at being independent or anything. It’s more that, well, he just hadn’t thought, and his past year of living off of shitty college student food and six years of just kind of assuming he and Shou were on the same level until proven otherwise had chosen to fill in the blanks. Again, he tries to tell himself, this shouldn’t really be such a stunning revelation, or even as weirdly charming as it is.

And the heat of the kitchen is hazy and overbearing, full of cooking smells and fading sunlight and frankly, Ritsu thinks he can be excused his moment of overly emotional stupidity when he just smiles at Shou languidly, says, “There’s so much to you,” in this kind of indecipherable voice that has so many layers even he’s not sure what he means by it.

Shou huffs this little laugh but he’s not quite smiling, just staring at Ritsu with wide eyes like he’s waiting for the joke or something, and Ritsu watches as a flush rises high in his cheeks, spreading until his whole face is ruddy pink; when Shou blushes, he blushes hard. There’s this split second where everything is charged, Ritsu feels like he’s feeling everything at once, like he’s on the edge of something with the way Shou’s swaying further into his space–

–And then it breaks, when hot oil pops loud as a gunshot, coming flying out of the pan with enough force to make Shou jolt backwards, looking dazed. Ritsu yelps, practically leaps backwards from the stove, then throws up his barrier about half a minute too late to actually be effective against anything. This, of course, sends Shou into hysterics, bracing himself against the counter and clutching his stomach as he doubles over cackling. Ritsu rolls his eyes and huffs, puts on a good show of annoyance, but can’t keep the smile off of his face, not with Shou’s infectious amusement in such close proximity. Shou returns to his station, starts nudging the chicken with a spatula, but not before shaking his head at Ritsu gravely and teasing, “I see your instincts have slowed in your old age.”

-

Okay, so Shou can cook. Like, he’d kind of figured he could from the expert, practiced way he’d moved around the kitchen, but it hadn’t quite sunk in for Ritsu until he’d stuck a piece of chicken in his mouth experimentally and found himself moaning around his fork.

“Holy shit,” he says once he’s swallowed, lightly kicking at Shou’s thighs where he’s sat next to him on the sofa. “Yeah, I’m going to need you to make this all the time? Please?”

Shou just laughs and makes to run his hand through his hair, but aborts the motion as soon as he hits the gelled spikes. “I dunno, there’s other stuff, and kiev’s kind of an ordeal,” and Ritsu can’t quite stop himself from grinning because Shou’s rambling only sounds this aimless and shaky when he’s flustered, and he leans back as Shou continues, “I just needed to start myself making stuff at some point or we were gonna live off of pizza forever, and we had all the stuff for kiev, so.” Shou shrugs halfheartedly, then starts cutting up his chicken, just a little too aggressively to be casual.

Ritsu does the dishes. It’s a fair price to pay, if he’s gonna keep getting dinners like that.

-

jesus, it’s hot, and he can barely fucking sleep with the sweat running up his back, soaking him to the bed and the sheets are tangled around his feet and there’s  

weight on his hips, and it’s burning and there are thighs on either side of his stomach, shaking with the strain and

he’s tracing imaginary patterns of freckles with his eyes and his fingernails and his teeth and then there are hands heavy on his shoulders, pressing him down and he’s

panting, hot breath joining the already sweltering room because there’s friction, grinding down hard and it’s almost too much and he’s dragging fingernails across sweat-slick thighs and an arching back and anything and everything he can reach and he’s

staring into eyes it’s too dark in the bedroom to see the blue of and it feels like he can’t hear for how heavy the heat is but he watches lips moving and knows he’s begging and

-

He wakes up with his hand down his boxers and the word please ringing in his ears.

Ritsu stares at the ceiling, waiting for his sight to adjust so that he can almost make out shapes in the pitch black of his room, and breathes, silently willing his heart to stop pounding, his chest to stop aching. Weird, he thinks, absently palming his dick; he’s lucid enough to know that it’s probably a bad idea to get himself off after that, but still hazy and hyped up enough from the dream that he’s going to do it anyways.

As it is, he’s just doing his damndest to ignore the distant sounds of Shou puttering about in the living room.

And, god, that was the strangest part of it. See, it wasn’t that Ritsu didn’t have a sex drive, but he didn’t… he didn’t get this sort of thing, the weird sex dreams and absent fantasizing about people, and hell, he’s figured he could probably go the rest of his life without getting off and not be all that bothered by it. Even when he’d been fourteen and viciously hormonal, the dreams had always been vague, or arousing while he was having them and then weird when he woke up.

But this was – well, it was vivid, to say the least, and it was sticking with him, Shou straddling his hips and grinding–

He bucks up into his hand, comes with a choked sound in the back of his throat.

And god, does he regret that decision immediately, when suddenly everything is sticky and disgusting and there is no way in fucking shit he’s risking the walk from his room to the bathroom while Shou is awake, so he settles with shucking out of his boxers, doing his best to clean up his mess with them, putting on a new pair, lying down on the other side of the bed, and resolving to deal with his brand new problems in the morning. Even despite the lingering unease climbing in anxious tendrils up his throat, it’s still easy enough to let himself drift back off.

If he dreams again after that, he doesn’t remember it in the morning.

[cherryblossomcheesecake]

How Rare & Beautiful: Chapter 1 - A FFXV OC Fanfic

Just doing all I'm capable of and contributing to the minimal amount of oc fics out there with this project of mine. Aside from playing the game and watching the anime/movie, I am trying my best to get my facts correct by researching extensively when necessary. I hope you all enjoy and I don't let you down. Title of story taken from the lyrics of Sleeping at Last's Saturn. I highly recommend listening to "bird song intro" on youtube as it was the song that inspired and complemented this chapter. POSTED: 02.20.17 WORD COUNT: 1,746 Master List

Bird Song Intro - Florence + the Machine

I was tired, like always. Both school and club activities left a perpetual bone deep tiredness within me that was only drawn out further by the mental exhaustion of being an introvert and interacting with others all day. I just wanted to go home and sleep for an eternity, but there was still the daily homework load to complete.

It had been my turn to clean up after history club this week, making me the last to leave school out of the group. It had been raining all day and didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon as I hovered in the doorway of the building, debating on making a run for it to the bus shelter down the road. I cursed my lack of umbrella before darting out into the rain with a notebook covering the top of my head.

I could have probably taken a little more care in walking down the stairs leading away from the school. My runner-clad foot landed on the step below me before shooting forward and throwing me off balance. The notebook was thrown backwards as I swung my arms to catch my balance, while my other foot slid off the step as well, sending me down onto the concrete.

Pain erupted at the back of my head and flew through my entire back as black slowly crept into my vision.

It was so cold, I fumbled around to find my blankets which I had kicked off at some point in the night. But instead of grasping my downy comforter, my hand met the cool ground beneath me, making my brown eyes open in confusion. Rather than being in the safe confines of my bedroom at home, I found myself surrounded by the hushed calm of an unfamiliar forest.

Panic began to rise in my chest as I stood on shaking legs and began stumbling through the trees around me. Everything was the same for miles, green trees and bushes that clawed at my clothes and exposed skin. Granted, my school uniform probably wasn't fit for tearing through dense forests, my running shoe catching on a tree root and sending me to the forest floor.

Sitting back on my knees, I let out a shriek at the sight of an animal. The thing was small, like a cat, with large ears and a long tail, covered in white fur, with a weird red horn on it's head. I stared wide-eyed at it as it looked at me, placing a cell phone of all things in front of me. I just looked between the thing and the cell phone before the animal gave a 'yip' and the phone went off.

I slowly picked the phone up and turned the screen on to view the message. 'Hello, can you read this?' I tilted my head slightly, weirded out by the random message before another popped up on the screen, 'In front of you!'

My brown gaze immediately moved from the screen to the animal before me, staring at it in surprise.

"Uh, you?" I questioned quietly, hoping I wasn't losing my mind in some hospital somewhere, high on meds or something.

'Yes! Welcome to the world of your dreams!' was the response that popped up before the little white thing began running along a path through the forest.

"Wait!" I shouted, taking off after it down the path.

The forest path opened up to travel between high cliffs, the white creature sitting on a slab of rock, looking at me with dark eyes.

'You're in deep, kid. Quite a bump to the head, if it was enough to send you here.' Looking up from the phone screen, I crouched in front of the animal cautiously.

"Who are you exactly?" I asked quietly, considering the animal had large ears, I didn't want to damage it's hearing.

'I'm Carbuncle! I'm here to guide you back to the waking world! But first, we need to find the exit.' was the reply I received on the phone. I looked at Carbuncle with a thoughtful gaze, before standing and tucking the phone into my coat pocket.

"Lead the way then."

Carbuncle gave a 'yip' before taking off down the path again, with me following close behind. The path went downwards until pools of water were resting between the rocks that littered the ground. The pools of water eventually made sense as we came across a large lake, surrounded by the cliffs that had been growing taller as we walked on.

Carbuncle give another 'yip', prompting me to pull out the phone again.

'I've found the door, follow me!' was what the message read before it jumped and disappeared into the water.

I sighed, staring into the clear water before jumping in as well. The cold water was a shock to my system and the darkness was suffocating at the very least. However, it only lasted a moment before I was stumbling across the floor of my history classroom. Small issue though— I was the size of a mouse now.

I looked around for Carbuncle, going wide-eyed at the new size of the animal; he might as well be an elephant now. The elephant-sized creature trotted off in search of the exit, with me following close behind.

Carbuncle eventually launched itself up onto the teacher's desk, looking around the model of an old imperial palace before giving a loud 'yip'.

'I found the next doorway! We're almost there!' the message read before I pocketed the phone once more, trying to climb my way up a stack of books to the teacher's chair and eventually the desk. God bless the history prof's disorganization, or else I would never have reached the top. Walking up to the palace model, I pull out the phone again as Carbuncle 'yips' from above.

'Up ahead is the end of your dream. The one place you truly feel safe.' I smiled up at the animal before heading forward into the light-filled doorway. I continued to walk, the light slowly beginning to fade before giving way to the scene before me.

I stood in front of my family's home, the streets around me quiet but in a calm way.

'Your home is your safe place! You feel the safest when you're surrounded by your family!' I followed Carbuncle across the street to the front door, fishing my keys from my jacket pocket and unlock the door. Leaning down, I rub the animal's head, making sure to steer clear of it's horn.

'Everyone's waiting for you.'

"Thanks, Carbuncle. For everything." I said quietly, rising to my full height and opening the door to the house. Stepping over the threshold, I closed the door behind me before the world slowly went dark once again.

I slowly blinked awake, expecting to find myself in a hospital with a doctor about to tell me I had a cracked skull and a bad concussion. But what I actually saw was a thin old woman resting in a chair by my bedside, her silver hair piled up on top of her head as she sewed a button on a shirt.

"Where am I?" I asked quietly, my voice hoarse from disuse but also higher than I remember. Staring in confusion, I tried to sit up in the massive bed before realizing it wasn't the bed that was huge. I was just the size of a child.

"Calm down, child. You took a tumble while playing with the other children." the woman replied calmly, putting down her sewing to walk to my bedside.

"Who are you? Why am I here?" I demanded, scooting away from the woman as she drew closer. The old woman sighed lightly as she sat on the edge of the mattress.

"I'm Miss Renata, I run the foster home here. Where you live." the woman answered patiently, looking at me in pity.

I look at the size difference between her hand and mine, slowly becoming more confused as the seconds tick by.

"How old am I?"

Miss Renata smiles sadly, "You're eight years old."

I suck in a sharp breath, staring down at the blankets covering my lap. They are black and grey patterned quilts, worn and fraying in some areas from age and use.

"I can't be. I was seventeen just a few hours ago, I just finished my day at high school!" I grew more frantic, my hands shooting upwards to tangle in my dark hair.

Miss Renata reached over to the bedside table, retrieving a hand mirror before facing it towards me. In the reflection of the glass was me in all my wide-eyed, eight year-old glory. Dark hair a tangled mess around a pale face that had brown eyes that were far too wide to be normal; a white bandage stained with spots of brown wrapped around my forehead. Tears began to well in my eyes as the old woman carefully placed the mirror back on the bedside table, and resting a weathered hand on my thin shoulder.

"The doctor said there might be a chance that you would be confused when you woke up. Hopefully, everything will come back to you slowly. For now, eat and rest, and we'll go from there." the old woman encouraged lightly, moving slowly to retrieve a tray of food from a dresser by the door and place it in my lap. "The soup and bread should be easy on your stomach, dear. Once you finish, you can go back to sleep."

I nodded silently, picking up the bread and tearing it into chunks to dunk in the strange soup. It didn't really taste like chicken but it was close, prompting me to ask Miss Renata.

"What's in the soup?" The woman smiled lightly from where she had returned to her sewing.

"It's vegetable and chocobo soup. Easy food for an empty stomach." I tilted my head slightly at the mention of 'chocobo' but didn't ask anything more. I was more concerned with filling my empty stomach.

After finishing the soup and the glass of milk that accompanied my food, Miss Renata took the tray away and tucked me in my bed once again. It was strange having an adult tuck me in but in my current state, I couldn't object.

"Rest now. Perhaps you'll remember more once you've rested some more." the old woman said with a small smile, closing the door behind her and leaving me to wonder until I drifted off into sleep.

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